


The Trials of Dean Winchester

by O4amuse



Series: Five Little Pigs [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sam, Dean in Purgatory, Depressed Dean, Episode: s08e14 Trial and Error, Episode: s08e19 Taxi Driver, Episode: s08e20 Pac-Man Fever, Episode: s08e21 The Great Escapist, Episode: s08e22 Clip Show, Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hellhounds, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, POV Sam Winchester, Purgatory, Season/Series 08, Soul Bond, Top Dean, Trials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-10 00:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5561230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/O4amuse/pseuds/O4amuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I'll tell you what I do know: I'm going to die with a gun in my hand. That's what I have waiting for me, that's all I have waiting for me. I want you to get out. I want you to have a life, become a Man of Letters, whatever. You with a wife and kids and grandkids, living until you're fat and bald and chugging Viagra. That is my perfect ending. And it's the only one that I'm gonna get. So I'm going to do these trials. I'm going to do them alone. End of story.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black Dog, Black Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Próby Deana Winchestera](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6764866) by [Loreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loreen/pseuds/Loreen)
  * Inspired by [White is the Colour of my Sorrow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219330) by [O4amuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/O4amuse/pseuds/O4amuse). 



Dean had been happy. ‘Nesting’. That’s what really got Sam, his brother had been happy for the first time in years. Sleeping well, eating - hell, cooking - better. Kevin’s discovery about how to close the gates of Hell had been the icing on the cake.

Or at least, that’s what Sam thought. Until they went hunting hellhounds. He’d expected some PTSD from his brother, some flashbacks to when Fido came collecting for him. He hadn’t expected a declaration of suicide.

  “You told me yourself that you see a way out. You see a light at the end of this ugly ass tunnel. I don't.” Dean smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “But I'll tell you what I do know: I'm going to die with a gun in my hand. That's what I have waiting for me, that's all I have waiting for me. I want you to get out. I want you to have a life, become a Man of Letters, whatever. You with a wife and kids and grandkids, living until you're fat and bald and chugging Viagra. That is my perfect ending. And it's the only one that I'm gonna get. So I'm going to do these trials. I'm going to do them alone. End of story. You're staying here, I'm going out there. If land shark comes knocking, you call me. If you try to follow me, I’m gonna put a bullet in your damn leg.”

Sam watched Dean walk away and couldn’t call after him. His throat was tight, closed. He’d known for a long time that his brother was depressed. ‘Tired’, he called it, but it had nothing to do with sleeping. Sam had thought, with the bunker, and the end of the apocalypse, things were getting better. But it wasn’t enough.

He wasn’t enough.

Sam stamped on that treacherous little thought as soon as he had it. Dean loved him, he knew that. Okay, so there’d been a… a disagreement over his use of demon blood (and Sam still had the voicemail, and sometimes, after a drink, he played it back because he was a masochist and needed the occasional reminder that he had a lot to make up for), but Dean loved him. Under the threats of physical violence, that’s what that whole little speech had been about. The thing Dean didn’t get, no matter what Sam did, was that he was loved in return. And maybe that was on Sam. Maybe Sam didn’t love him enough. He knew he didn't love him right. 

A man could go mad, chasing after thoughts like that.

He watched from the window as the hellhound prowled into the yard, moving more like a panther than a dog, and he prayed silently. (Yes, he still prayed, which was probably an abomination in itself, but he figured that he was in the privileged position of knowing for sure that God existed and maybe, one day, he might actually get through to the guy.) Let the hellhound be slow, sleepy, just plain stupid. Let Dean be lucky for once in their sorry lives. Above all else, let it not decide to drag his brother back down to the Pit again. Not again.

A door closed behind him and Sam turned to see Alice Cassity had got free. If she made it out to the yard the hellhound would see her - maybe go for her, if she’d been the one to sell her soul for oil - and Dean would be distracted by trying to save her, and get himself killed. Sam tore after her, furious with her and himself. He caught up as she was struggling to get into her car, hands shaking with fear and shock and tears.

  “Please let me go!” she begged. “Please! No… please don’t hurt me…”

  “I’m not,” Sam snapped. “I’m trying to help you.” He froze as a deep growl came from the bushes flanking the drive. It was here, right here. “Get in the house,” he said, pushing Alice back towards the door. “Go.”

She took off in a clatter of heels. When Sam looked again, he couldn’t see the shadow of a beast in the darkness and there were no more growls. It wasn’t bounding after Alice as she ran, which meant she hadn’t made a deal with Crowley. And, since it wasn’t heading towards the open door, that ruled out the rest of the Cassitys. There was only one person left on the ranch.

Sam sprinted for the stables, to be greeted by the sight of the hellhound standing over Dean with bared and bloody teeth. He had a throat-gripping flashback to the night that Dean was dragged to Hell and he’d been held helpless against a wall, forced to watch his world scream as it died. Well, he wasn’t helpless now.

He brought his rifle up and fired two shots. It wouldn’t hurt the bitch but it might distract it from Dean, turn on him instead. And the plan (okay, non-plan) was working - the beast winced sideways and bunched its muscles to leap at him - but then his stupid, suicidal, crazy big brother rolled between its legs to grab Ruby’s knife and stabbed upwards. Black blood, thick as molasses, gushed down, covering Dean’s face and torso. The hellhound yowled, writhing in pain, pushing itself further onto the knife. Dean shouted, one hand going to its throat to keep the snapping jaws at bay, and twisted the blade. A final yelp, a final spurt of black, and then Dean threw the dead weight off to one side and flopped back with a groan, putting a hand to the wound on his ribs.

  “Dean!” Sam dropped to his knees beside him, frantic hands pulling back the sopping shirts.

  “Shit.” That was Ellie’s voice. Sam turned to see her standing in the door of the stables. “Is he okay?”

  “I’ve had worse.” Dean pushed himself up onto one elbow, wincing. “Thought I told you to stay inside the circle.”

  “I heard you shouting.” Ellie stood next to Sam, eyes fixed on the injury. “You need to go to a hospital.”

  “He really has had worse,” Sam said. “Goofer dust circle? So…”

  “I made a deal with Crowley,” Ellie said briskly. “Come on. At least let me patch you up.”

  Sam hauled Dean to his feet, trying not to gag at the stench of sulphur and rotting eggs that coated his brother. “You need a shower.”

  “Later. Just hope this stuff isn’t infectious. Last thing I need is Demon Rabies.”

They limped into Ellie’s room and she did her best with antiseptic and bandages. Sam had to give her points for togetherness, given how close she’d come to getting her ass dragged South. But when Dean assured her that she wasn’t going to Hell, it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut.

  “Even if she can dodge Crowley,” he said, as soon as she’d left, “as soon as Ellie dies, her soul is earmarked for Hell.”

  “Not if we shut it down first.” Dean dug the scrap of paper out of his pocket and took a deep breath. “Kah Nah Ahm Dar.”

Then he grunted, a cut-off sound that Sam knew meant pain. He turned away, bracing both hands against the dresser, his breathing harsh and fast.

  “Dean?” Sam took an involuntary step towards him. “Dean!”

White light pulsed through his arm, highlighting the blood vessels. Dean’s eyes went wide and his nostrils flared. Then it faded and he slowly straightened up, panting a little. Sam reached for him but he flinched away, cradling his arm into his side.

  “I’m fine.”

  “That didn’t look fine.”

  “I said I’m fine, Sam. I can do this. Come on, let’s go home. I wanna get this stuff off me.”

Sam insisted on driving, and Dean let him without complaint. Looking back later, he knew that should have been his first clue.


	2. Red Hell, Red Smoke

When Kevin gave them the second Trial, Sam’s heart sank. Breaking a soul out of Hell was a serious step up from killing a hellhound. Besides, they’d both been miraculously lucky to get out of there once already. Heading back in for round two was really testing the luck they didn’t have. (He privately blamed that on smashing all the mirrors whilst trying to kill Bloody Mary back in ‘05. He never said as much to Dean, though. His brother wasn’t big on superstition.)

By the time they tracked down the rogue reaper, flashbacks to the Cage had his shirt sticking to him in a cold sweat. He did his best to hide it but Dean kept shooting him worried glances, which was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if his brother was nightmare-free. He heard him sometimes, talking in his sleep. Moaning, actually, although Sam would never ever use that word out loud. Alistair’s name came up on a semi-regular basis. Sam took a deep, calming breath and told himself to get a grip.

  “Ajay!” Dean called as they approached the taxi driver. “Need to talk to you for a sec.”

  “You know my name.”

  “And what you do,” Sam said. “We wanna do business. If we wanted to cross the border into Hell…” He stumbled slightly at the enormity of that lie.

  “Visitor’s pass,” Dean said, taking over smoothly.

  “No one wants to get into Hell,” the reaper said, blinking.

  “But could you do it?”

  “It’s possible. It will be pricey. One day you will owe me a favour.”

  “You say that like you know us,” Sam said suspiciously.

  “Of course. You’re the Winchesters. I’m the reaper who took Bobby Singer to Hell.”

And just like that they had a target. Sam hadn’t stopped to consider which innocent soul they might rescue. Actually, he’d figured they’d just grab the first one they found and make a run for it. But there was no question of leaving Bobby downstairs. It made him feel marginally better, having an emotional investment in Plan Crazy.

  “Okay,” Dean said, clenching his jaw. “Let’s do this. How much for one ticket down and two back?”

  Sam glared at him. “Dean.”

  Dean actually had the gall to look surprised. “What?”

  “C’mere.” Sam pulled him a couple of steps away from Ajay. “What are you thinking?”

  “You heard the guy! Bobby’s in Hell, I’m gonna spring him.”

  “Not on your own, you’re not. I’m coming too.”

  “The hell you are. We’ve been over this, Sam, I’m doing these trials alone. Besides, can you look me in the eye and tell me you’re in any mental shape to go back on Lucifer’s home turf?”

  “Don’t give me that crap,” Sam snapped. “It’s not your first time either.”

  “My tour was a walk in the park compared to yours. Look, I got one shot at this. I’m not gonna risk you down there.”

  “Risk me down there?” Sam ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Dean, stop treating me like a kid!”

  “I said no, Sam.” Dean turned back to Ajay. “I’m in. Just me.”

  “Follow me,” Ajay said with what Sam considered to be obnoxious cheerfulness.

  “Wait.” Sam blocked the path. “How does this work?”

  “Not to fret. He’ll be back in exactly twenty-four hours’ time. Return for him then.”

Ajay walked around Sam and headed towards a heavily graffiti'd alley. Dean gave Sam a shadowy version of his usual cocky grin and followed. Sam watched them disappear round a corner and felt physically sick. This was the second time he’d had to stand by as his brother went to Hell. Okay, so there was a lot less screaming and blood involved than previously, but that didn’t make him feel a whole lot better.

He found a largely deserted Starbucks, bought a peppermint tea to settle his stomach and sat in the window, watching the rain make patterns against the glass. If Dean didn’t come back… Well, Sam had had a lot of practice in making monsters scream for hours before they died. He’d start with Ajay and work his way Dean-wards from there. Maybe this time, if he drank enough demon blood, he could actually storm the gates of Hell.

It had been a while since he’d thought about using his powers. The thirst stirred sluggishly deep inside him. He remembered the rush, the feeling of utter invincibility. He could beat Crowley, he was sure of it. Fuck, why hadn’t they thought of this before? None of this dealing with rogue reavers crap. Get him a fix and he could walk in and take a soul, easy as taking candy from a baby. Maybe teach Crowley a lesson for hijacking Bobby, whilst he was at it.

Hot water spilled on his hand, jerking him from his thoughts, and he realised he was shaking. Once a junkie, always a junkie, it seemed. What would Dean say if he knew? Nothing good, certainly. Sam had seen what his addiction did to his brother, after Famine got him hooked again. Seen Dean’s red rimmed eyes and despair. He couldn’t do that to him again. This was Sam’s cross to bear and he shouldered the hungry weight of it in silence gladly, if it kept Dean looking at him clear and level.

If the worst came to the worst, at least this time he knew to call on Cas. The angel might have been a bit flaky recently but, according to Dean, he’d broken whatever conditioning he’d been under. On the plus side, Cas knew them now. It wouldn’t be a random snatch’n’grab. That had to count for something.

  “Hey, Cas,” he murmured, tracing water droplets with his eyes. “Just so you know… Dean’s gone back into Hell to save Bobby’s soul. He’s okay, he’s got a native guide. At least, I hope he’s okay. But if not… look, man, I could really use some reassurance here. Tell me you can get him out again. Please.” He looked over his shoulder at the under-populated cafe. “Cas? Can you hear me?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

Sam jerked round at the mildly apologetic female voice. A brown-haired woman in a crisp grey suit had appeared in the seat next to him. She gave him a polite smile and held out her hand.

  “We haven’t been formally introduced. My name is Naomi.”

  Every muscle in Sam’s body tensed. He wasn’t carrying an angel blade, hadn’t thought he might need it. Stupid, stupid. “I know who you are. And I know what you did to Cas after he got out of Purgatory.”

  “After I rescued him from Purgatory, you mean,” she said, a little sharply. “At the cost of many angels’ lives.”

  “You made him spy on us.” Sam’s nostrils flared. “You told him to try and kill my brother.”

  She sighed, looking sad. “I suppose that is how he would hear it. When I learned of the angel tablet, I did tell Castiel to get it. At any cost. That’s my job - to protect Heaven.”

  “Don’t try to spin this.”

  “Sam, you must have noticed how Purgatory changed him. And your brother. How damaged they both are. Now Castiel is in the wind with a hydrogen bomb in his pocket, and I’m scared for all of us. I know you don’t want to believe it, Sam, but we’re on the same side. Shutting the gates of Hell, bringing Castiel in from the cold. Take a moment. Think about what I’ve said.” She offered him a pleasant smile and stood up. “Oh, I know you’ve been doing business with Ajay. He did mention, didn’t he, that his way into Hell is through Purgatory?”

  Sam’s fingers clenched automatically around his cup, sloshing hot tea over his hand. He felt it distantly, a secondary sensation behind the sudden jack-hammering of his pulse.

  Naomi smiled again. “I knew you’d want to know. You see - we can be of help to each other.”

With a flap of wings she was gone, leaving Sam to stare at the empty stool with a fear-fogged brain. Purgatory. Where Dean had spent months running and fighting, and come back changed. Come back… yes, damaged. All sharp edges and sharp eyes, a honed predator with no room for emotion. Barely human. Sharing space with him like that had cut Sam in ways he hadn’t known he could bleed. The thought of Dean there again, alone and weakened by the Trials (for all he denied it), nearly made Sam hyperventilate with panic. What if the monsters remembered him? What if PTSD made him freeze?

  “Cas?” he choked out. “Cas, please, man, answer me. Please, Castiel, I’m begging you.”

Nothing. No rush of wings, no deep voice, no angelic assistance. Okay. Sam put his head in his hands and fought to control his breathing. Okay, he could do this. Ajay could get him in to give Dean some back-up. Dean wouldn’t like it but he could bitch about it later, when they were both safely home. He wasn’t leaving his brother in Purgatory again. One step at a time.

It took him a while to track down Ajay’s cab and, when he finally found it, it didn’t do anything for his blood pressure. The reaper’s chest was significantly more stabbed than was healthy, and his eyes stared sightlessly at the roof. Sam swallowed, forcing himself to stay calm. Dean needed a pick-up, not panic.

  “Cas, I really need you to hear me. Dean’s stuck in Purgatory and I think someone knows he’s down there. Someone tough enough to kill a reaper. Cas! Goddamn it, Cas, answer me!”

The alley continued to be angel-free. Fuck. Okay, Plan B. Except Sam hadn’t got a Plan B. He usually came up with Plan A and Dean provided the crazy fallback ideas.

  “Wait.” Sam ran both hands through his hair frantically. “Wait. Stop. Think.”

Cas hadn’t got Dean out of Purgatory before. In fact, according to Dean the angel hadn’t handled it at all well. And Naomi said it had taken many angelic lives to haul Cas out. Clearly it wasn’t a healthy place for the Heavenly Host. No, if he wanted assistance with Dun Monsterin’, he needed a monster. He just had to hope that Dean was right about this particular monster.

He called from Dean’s other other phone, and Benny picked up after two rings.

  “Brother, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

  Sam’s stomach flipped a little at hearing the vampire call Dean ‘brother’ in such warm tones. “This isn’t Dean.”

  “Sam?” Benny’s voice sharpened. “What’s this about?”

  “Look, I know we don’t see eye to eye -”

  “You wanna kill me, Sam. And Dean stopped calling because of you. I’d say that’s a mite stronger than ideological disagreement.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. I know you saved my brother’s ass a few times down in Purgatory, and I respect that.”

  “You sure got a funny way of showing it.”

  Sam took a deep breath and reined in his temper. “But I need you to do it one more time.”

  “What?”

  “Dean’s gone back there, and he’s stuck.”

  “The hell he has.” Benny’s voice was suddenly dripping with vitriol. “And you just let him, didn’t ya? Gonna leave him to rot down there, same as last time? What the hell kinda brother are you, anyway? Way he tells it, the sun rises and sets on you, but I ain’t seen nothing to deserve that kinda love.”

  Sam swallowed hard. “Last time… we had an arrangement. He tried to live a normal life, whilst I was in Lucifer’s Cage, and I wanted that for him. I was just trying to do the same. Like I promised I would.”

  There was a pause at the other end of the line. “Lucifer’s Cage, huh?” The vampire sounded more thoughtful. “Guess you Winchesters don’t screw around.”

  “Will you help?”

  Benny forced a laugh. “Aw, hell. It ain’t in me to leave Dean hanging. Where d’you need me?”

It took another two hours for Benny to drive over, during which time Sam did his level best not to completely lose it. He hadn’t seen the vampire since the abortive hunt for him in Louisiana, which might have made this meeting awkward. But his concern for Dean overrode the social niceties - or what passed for them in hunting circles.

  “So,” Benny said, climbing out of his truck. “I assume you have a plan.”

  “This is where Dean left for Purgatory.” Sam gestured at the alley. “If you go from here, you should find him easily enough.”

  “Go from here,” Benny repeated, and stopped. He turned on his heel and whistled. “Wow. You mean getting beheaded?”

  Sam spread his hands. “It’s a lot to ask, I know, but Dean’s on his own and I’m out of options.”

  “Yeah. And the fact you’ve been itching to do this since I hooked up with your brother is just the icing on the cake.”

  “This isn’t about that.”

  “I know.” Benny gave a wry smile that didn’t spread past his lips. “For the record? I may be a bloodsucking monster, but I am one of the good guys. Dean believes in me. You got no idea how important that is.”

  “I might,” Sam said softly.

  Benny looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You might, at that. Alright, let’s do this.”

  “Thank you.” Sam hesitated then held out his hand.

  The vampire took it in a bone-crushing grip. “Dean’ll come out in the Hundred Mile Wilderness in Maine.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Let’s get on with it then.”

Sam pulled out his machete and Benny braced his shoulders with a shaky grin. Sam gave him a nod and swung hard, slicing cleanly through his neck. There was a moment of stillness. Then Benny’s knees gave and he fell full length on the dirty concrete, his head rolling grotesquely. Sam exhaled sharply and wiped the blood off the blade. He looked down at the vampire’s body, hesitating, then loaded it into the trunk with a grunt of effort.

It was a long drive to Maine. Angels and demons and reavers and vampires span in endless circles through Sam’s brain. Running through them all was Dean, Dean, Dean. He’d be alright. He had to be alright. He’d made it through Purgatory before and come out the other side. This was just a day trip. Benny’d get him out.

Strange, how Sam was suddenly able to trust the vampire. If he was being honest, he’d always known that Benny could be trusted, at least as far as his brother was concerned. That had been the real problem, hadn’t it? The way Dean looked at Benny, turned to him, leaned on him… Sam wasn’t used to sharing that. Dean might not love him the way he so desperately dreamed about, but that only made him need Dean’s attention more. He certainly wasn’t willing to share the sunlight of Dean’s affection with a vampire, of all things.

He might have to make that sacrifice, after this. 

It was dark by the time he reached the right spot, or what he hoped was the right spot. There weren’t any replacement batteries for the flashlight so he was forced to stumble through the woods in the dark.

  “Dean? Dean!”

  “Sammy?”

The reply was nearby and his heart nearly stopped with relief. Then his brother was stumbling out from the shadows and pulling him into a painfully tight hug. Sam buried his nose in Dean’s hair and closed his eyes.

  “Thanks for sending in the cavalry,” Dean said roughly, when they broke apart. “Good timing.”

  “Did you get them out?”

  Dean held out both forearms. “Course. It was close. A bunch of vamps showed up at the end but Benny and I showed them who’s boss.”

  “How did Bobby hold up down there?”

  “Pretty good, all things considered. Let’s put that old man where he belongs.”

Dean pulled out his knife and rolled up one sleeve. He cut deep and grunted out the words of the spell. A dazzling blue light erupted from his arm and floated upwards, only to hit a barrier of noxious red smoke that appeared out of nowhere.

  “Hello, boys,” Crowley said smoothly, behind them. “Bobby Singer, I’d know you anywhere.”

  “Let him go,” Dean growled. “He doesn’t belong in Hell.”

  “He does if I say he does.”

Dean started towards the demon, violence in his eyes, and Sam followed a fraction after. Crowley raised a hand and they were flung back against tree trunks, pinned several feet above the ground. The smoke trapping Bobby swirled angrily and began to pull his soul-light back down. Then it halted abruptly.

  Crowley frowned. “What?”

  Naomi appeared with a flutter of wings. “Let me see if I’ve interpreted the situation correctly. The Winchesters have freed an innocent from Hell, to which you are wrongfully trying to return it.”

  “Siding with them, Naomi? You don’t know those two. Before they’re done, you’ll both be locked away.”

  “I’m just hoping they lock you away, dear. The rest I’ll figure out.”

  “Bureaucrat.”

Naomi’s expression turned furious. She raised a glowing hand, eyes literally blazing, and Crowley vanished. The pressure on Sam and Dean disappeared and they hit the ground with a grunt of impact. Sam was up on his feet first, and stared as Naomi dismissed the red smoke holding Bobby’s soul hostage. The blue light spiralled up into the night sky and disappeared through the clouds. Naomi smiled at him.

  “I told you you could trust me, Sam.” Then she too vanished.

  Dean staggered upright. “What the hell was that about? Naomi? As in, the angel that brainwashed Cas?”

  “I’ll tell you later.” Sam looked pointedly at Dean’s other arm, which was still glowing.

  “You’d better. Okay, let’s get this Trial done, and Benny back in his body.” He hesitated. “You did bring his body, right?”

  “In the trunk.”

  “Good.” Dean pulled out the piece of paper with the Enochian spell and read it aloud.

Sam was expecting a grunt and light under his brother’s skin, same as last time. He wasn’t expecting Dean to shout in pain and drop to his knees. The light under his skin flared, brighter than before, and Dean gripped his wrist, face twisted in agony.

  “Dean? Talk to me!”

  “It’s okay,” Dean gasped. “It’s okay....” He doubled over with a moan and Sam grabbed at his shoulder. Then the light faded and he straightened up, sweat on his face. “I’m okay. It’s done.” But he didn’t get up, and he didn’t let go of his wrist.

  “Dean?”

  “Give me a minute.” He was still short of breath, not meeting Sam’s worried eyes. “Why don’t you get Benny out?”

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine, Sam. Just been on my feet all day.”

Sam reluctantly backed off and hauled Benny’s corpse over as gently as he could manage. The vampire was a bulky guy and, despite Sam’s care, he was going to resurrect with some bruises. Dean cut open his other arm and fluidly recited the Latin.

  Benny sat up with a grunt, an oddly sad expression on his face. “I told you I wanted a break from all this.”

  “And I told you that’s not happening,” Dean said.

  “I’m not a good fit here, Dean. I don’t belong.”

  “We’re gonna fix all that. You come back with me and Sam. No more arguments, Benny. I’ve lost too many friends, I ain’t losing you.”

  Sam swallowed against the sharp surge of jealousy. _Dean has enough love to go around_ , he told himself sternly. _You’re not six anymore, you can share._ “There’s a room at the Bunker if you want it. And no shortage of things that need doing.”

Dean and Benny looked up at him in surprise, but Dean’s quickly morphed into pleasure that warmed Sam to the core.

  Benny nodded slowly. “That’s mighty kind of you both. Let me pick up some supplies and I’ll drop by in a few days.”

  Dean pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, swaying slightly. “That’s a promise, you hear? If you ain’t there by the end of the week, I’ll come looking.”

  The vampire grinned, rising with inhuman grace. “You got it, chief.” He tipped his hat to Sam and loped off into the darkness.

  Dean rubbed his temple, wincing. “Let’s go home. You’re driving.”

  “You okay?”

  “Just a headache. I’ll be fine.”

Sam thought Dean had fallen asleep as soon as they hit asphalt. He glanced over at his brother, profile flaring a halo in the passing street lamps. The shadows under his eyes were darker, his skin paler, lines deeper. The trials were beginning to wear at him and this trip down Memory Lane wouldn’t have improved matters. Sam ached to help. Too many times he’d sat uselessly on the sidelines whilst Dean carried the weight of the world. He hated it, hated the restlessness in his bones, hated seeing his brother hurting. When he was little, Dean used to kiss away the sting of his cuts and grazes. He longed to return the favour; knew it would never be allowed.

  “Eyes on the road, Sammy,” Dean murmured.

  “I thought you were asleep.”

  “Don’t fancy the dreams.”

  Sam swallowed hard. “I’m sorry you had to go back there.”

  Dean didn’t answer for a long minute. “I nearly stayed,” he said at last, so soft that Sam almost missed it. “If it hadn’t been for getting Bobby out…”

  Something in Sam’s chest twisted painfully. “Why?”

  “There’s a purity to Purgatory. The fighting, the killing… it’s brutal but it’s clean. No moral quandaries. I knew what I was and what I was doing. Nothing to worry about.”

  “You mean no one to worry about,” Sam said, and it came out bitter.

  “Sammy -”

  “No, I get it. Angels, vampires, they’re powerful, they’re useful. I’m just your kid brother, right? Always needing to be looked after. Always a burden.”

  “Okay, stop.” Dean said firmly. “Pull over.”

  “No.”

  “Sam. Pull the fuck over. Now.”

Dean reached for the wheel. Rather than risk a crash, Sam pulled up onto the verge and killed the engine. He stared straight through the windscreen, unable to meet the weight of Dean’s gaze. He was suddenly, ridiculously, close to tears.

  Dean shifted to face him. “You seriously think that?”

  “You wanted to stay in Monster Hell, rather than come back to me.” Sam rubbed a hand roughly across his mouth. “What am I supposed to think?”

  “Sam. Sammy.” Dean sounded so choked that Sam was surprised into looking at him. He shook his head. “There’s only one thing that keeps me going, man. Has always kept me going. Don’t you dare think there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you. It has never been like that, ever.”

  Sam dragged in a shaky breath. “Cas… Benny…”

  “They’re friends. Hell, they’re good as family. But you… Sam, I lo-” He broke off and looked out of the window. “Too much. That’s the truth of it.”

  A flush of heat swept over Sam’s skin, left him trembling. He screwed up his courage and reached out to grip Dean’s thigh, rubbing his thumb along the seam. “Always.”

  Dean’s head snapped round, pupils flaring. He stared at Sam’s hand and licked his lips. “Was that a _Harry Potter_ reference?” he said shakily.

  Sam slid along the seat towards him and forced a smile. “I knew you’d read them all.”

The lessened space between them vibrated with tension. They were both breathing fast, lips parted. Sam had wanted this, dreamed about it, for so long. It still felt like a dream; a lonely back road at midnight, Dean open and vulnerable in front of him. The smell of sweat and pine and blood, adrenalin fizzing under his skin. Slowly, so slowly, Dean raised a hand with a dazed expression.

Then he convulsed forwards in a racking cough, hand flying to cover his mouth, and the spell was broken.

  “Christ, are you okay?”

  “Fine,” Dean wheezed, and coughed again. “Is there any water?”

  “In the trunk. Hang on.”

Sam got out and retrieved the half-empty bottle. When he climbed back into the driver’s seat, Dean was wiping his hand against his jeans.

  “Thanks.” He gulped the water down and sank back into the seat with a sigh. “Fuck, that hurt.”

  “You sure you’re alright?”

  “Probably just sulphur fumes. That’ll teach me to take a day tour through Hell.” Dean closed his eyes. “I’m whacked. Wake me when you need a break.”

Sam watched his brother for a long moment, worry and want and joy wrestling in his chest. Then he turned the key and eased the Impala back onto the road, taking them home.


	3. Grey Walls, Grey Hair

Benny knocked on the bunker’s door two days later, and Sam let him in.

  “Hey,” the vampire said, a wary look in his eyes.

  “Come on in.” Sam waved him over the threshold, not missing the easing tension in his shoulders. “Dean’ll be glad to see you. I think he was half expecting you to go get your head cut off again.”

  “Nah, I promised. Just needed to do a little shopping.” Benny patted the bag slung at his side. “Figured you two wouldn’t have A Positive on tap.”

  “Where did you -”

  “Blood bank, Sam. Don’t worry, I’m still on the wagon.” Benny gave an appreciative whistle as they came out onto the balcony of the war room. “Hell of a place you got here.”

  “Dean?” No answer. Sam led Benny towards the kitchen. “He’s probably in his room. He’s been sleeping a lot since he got back from Purgatory.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Honestly? Not great. He keeps coughing, and his reflexes are off. I caught him down in the shooting range yesterday, seriously pissed because he couldn’t hit the target.” Sam sighed and gestured towards the fridge. “Help yourself to space.”

Benny nodded his thanks and began to unload blood pouches. A shuffling in the doorway made them both turn as Dean appeared, wrapped in a dressing gown with hair spiking every which way.

  “Benny,” he said thickly, and yawned. “Good to see you, man.”

  “You too, chief.” Benny moved in for a hug, then frowned. “Dean, you need a doctor.”

  “What’s the matter?” Sam was next to them instantly.

  “I can smell blood on his breath.”

  Dean pushed past irritably. “Dude, I just woke up. Morning breath -”

  “I may drink my meals from plastic bags but I’m still a vampire.”

  “Dean?” Sam said, swallowing. “Tell me what’s going on or I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  “You know what’s going on.” Dean got out a mug and poured himself some coffee. “And a doctor won’t do squat. Cas already took a look and said he can’t fix me up.”

  “When?”

  “Back before his latest disappearing act. I just gotta finish these trials, that’s all.” He spilled coffee on his hand and put the mug down, swearing.

  “Except Kevin’s missing and we still don’t know what the third trial is.” Sam went to the sink and ran a cloth under cold water, then pressed it to his brother’s hand. “You gotta let me take care of you, Dean. Just once, let me take care of you for a change.”

  “You wanna play nursemaid, Sammy?” 

There was a teasing note in Dean’s voice. Sam was instantly back on the road from Maine, tension building like an avalanche between them. His eyes fixed on Dean’s mouth. So close, he was so close, Sam could just lean forward and… 

  Benny closed the fridge with a thud. “So, you said something about a room?”

  “I’ll give you the tour,” Dean said, moving away. 

Sam swallowed his sigh and went to grab (ha ha) a little alone time in his en suite before heading back to the library. An email alert was waiting for him on his laptop.

  “Guys!” he yelled. “Message from Kevin!”

  “Finally,” Dean said as he and Benny came in. “Where the hell is he?”

Sam clicked through to the video and Kevin’s tired face appeared, with the metal walls of Garth’s boat in the background.

  “Sam, Dean.” The Prophet’s voice was tired, scraped thin. “I’ve set up this message with some software on a remote server so it would send itself to you if I didn’t reset it with a command once a week. Which means I didn’t reset it this week. And there’s only one reason I wouldn’t. Which means, if you’re watching this then I…”

Sam felt sick to his stomach. This was their fault. They should’ve been looking out for the kid better. Kevin had flat-out told them Crowley was getting close and they’d just brushed it off. In his peripheral vision he saw Benny’s hand move to Dean’s shoulder. His brother stood unflinching, carved out of pale stone.

  “I’ve been uploading all my notes, the translations,” the video continued. “I’m sending you the links. You guys are going to have to try to figure out the rest. I’m sorry. I know it was my job but I couldn’t… I’m sorry.”

The screen went black. 

Dean turned out from under Benny’s hand and hurled a table lamp across the room. 

  “Hey, easy, brother.” Benny reached for him but Sam shook his head and Dean walked wordlessly away.

  “Give him some space,” Sam said.

  Benny gave him a sceptical look. “You know he’s just working out how it’s all his fault.”

  “I’m familiar with my brother’s martyr complex, thank you,” Sam said sharply, sitting down at his laptop. “This isn’t the first time we’ve lost someone. He’ll beat himself up about it for a week, then we’ll have a few drinks and I’ll persuade him that we’re both responsible but the real culprit is… well, in this case it’s Crowley. Then he’ll get all fired up about taking Crowley down, which is what we’re doing anyway, and after that it becomes one more notch of guilt on his tab.”

  “That’s the best therapy you got?”

  Sam’s temper flared, grief and guilt and jealousy all finding a target in Benny. “I’ve been doing this my whole life. You think a couple of months fighting together in Purgatory means you know my brother better? Then sure, be my guest! When he starts swinging punches, don’t come crying to me.”

Benny gave a slow nod and left the library. Sam ran both hands through his hair, swallowed hard as he closed Kevin’s video, and then began downloading the Prophet’s notes. This was how they coped: Dean fought, Sam worked.

When Sam next saw Dean and Benny they were both sporting new sets of bruises, but Dean hadn’t retreated into himself quite as far as usual. He looked over the piles of print-outs littering the library desks and raised an eyebrow.

  “I hope these make sense to you, Sammy, coz they look like Klingon to me.”

  Sam straightened up with a tired sigh. “I think Kevin was using his own shorthand. And his own code. I can’t even work out what order the sections of the tablet should be read in. The only lead I’ve got so far is this.” He held out a photo of four interlocking circles around a triangle. “This symbol? Kevin has it down as a signature for the Scribe of God. It appears every time Metatron makes editor’s notes.”

  “Okay, so?” Dean sat down, looking blankly at the photo.

  “I think I’ve seen it before. A long time ago. One of my Humanities courses at Stanford.”

  “They taught Word of God at Stanford?”

  “It was an overview of Native American art. Benny, could you pass me that book on the shelf behind you? No, the one to the left.” Sam leafed through the pages. “Yeah, here. The symbol belonged to a tiny tribe in Colorado, the Two Rivers Tribe. The closest translation for this glyph was… ‘Messenger of God’.” He looked up, elated. “Messenger of God? Dean, we have to go there.”

  “On that hunch? What about Kevin’s notes?”

  “There’s no way I can figure out what the Prophet couldn’t. I say we go see Metatron, who wrote it in the first place.”

  “You think God’s secretary is holed up with a bunch of Native Americans?” Benny asked, folding his arms with a sceptical air.

  “Yeah, I do,” Sam said emphatically. 

  Dean pushed himself up shakily from the table. “Okay then, Tonto. Let’s hit the trail.”

They left Benny at the bunker on the basis that, if they did find Metatron, he was unlikely to be a fan of vampiric abominations. Sam tried not to feel too happy about Benny’s absence. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the guy. To be honest, if they’d met under different circumstances (and without fangs), they’d probably have got on great. But Benny’s relationship with Dean was uncomplicated in a way that Sam’s couldn’t be. Which meant that, when Dean was angry and grieving, Benny could let himself be used as a punchbag. Dean would never vent at Sam like that, certainly not with the memories of their smackdowns over demon blood hanging between them. Benny forced Sam to acknowledge that he couldn’t be and do everything for his brother, no matter how much he wanted to. That hurt. 

The drive was quieter than usual. Dean fell asleep pretty quickly and Sam kept his music low so as not to disturb his brother. It wasn’t until he killed the engine in the empty Two Rivers Hotel car park that Dean stirred.

  “Are we there?”

  “Yeah.” Sam peered through the windscreen at the stone building. “Nice place.”

  “Can you hear that?”

  “What?”

  Dean wiggled a finger in his ear, scrunching his nose. “Feels like I’ve got tinnitus. It’s probably nothing. Let’s check in.”

The foyer was dark and the bar was empty. Sam snuck a look at the guest register whilst the clerk got him a key. The last entry dated back to 2006. 

  “How are they still open?” he muttered to Dean as they got into the elevator.

  “What?” Dean said loudly. “Dude, all I can hear is this whining noise.”

  Sam put a hand to his forehead. “You’re running a temperature. Maybe you ought to lie down for a bit.”

  “You trying to get me into bed, Sammy?” Dean leered.

  “Weak, man. Come on, this way.”

He pushed Dean along the corridor and into their room. Dean stumbled a little when he let go, and sat down heavily on the bed nearest the door. Sam raised an eyebrow.

  “Really? You think you’re in any state to fight if something comes in?”

  “I can still shoot a gun.” 

  Sam dumped their bags and rummaged for his laptop. “You’re so deep in denial, your feet are wet.”

  “Hey, that’s not a bad idea.” Dean went over to the mini-bar. “You want anything?”

  “You shouldn’t drink on a fever,” Sam objected. “Besides, can you even get drunk any more?”

  “I’m willing to try. Seriously, dude, this noise is driving me crazy. I gotta distract myself somehow.”

Sam shook his head and settled himself against the headboard of the other bed. He dug through the hotel’s records, finding one ongoing account for a Mr. Marv Smith in Room 366, whose itemized bill included weekly orders from Amazon, and a link to the Two Rivers Tribal Museum. Their ‘History’ page talked about a mighty leader who brought his tribe to the area, led by the Great Spirit’s sacred messenger who demanded offerings of stories in return for protection. He frowned, wondering what the Messenger of God might want with stories, but his train of thought was disrupted by Dean nearly sitting on his knees.

  “Hey!” He moved the laptop to safety and put a hand out to steady his leaning brother, who now smelled strongly of whiskey. “Easy.”

  Dean grasped his wrist. “Sam, I want you to promise me something.”

  “What?” Sam looked up from their conjoined skin and his brother’s expression killed the building heat. “No. I know what you’re going to say, and you don’t get to say it. You’re gonna make it through this.”

  “You could go back to Stanford, have a life. A real life.”

  “This is my life. The family business, remember?”

  “Sammy…”

  “No. You keep trying to make some kind of perfect ending for me but what about my perfect ending, Dean? You ever stop to think about what I actually want? I never asked you to sell your soul for me, and I certainly didn’t ask you to do these trials so I didn’t have to.”

  Dean’s face twisted. “You’re an ungrateful bastard, you know that?”

  “Shut up. Just shut up!” Sam grabbed his shoulders and shook him. Dean pushed at his chest but he was weak now, too weak to break Sam’s hold. “My perfect ending includes you, you jerk. All my endings include you. I don’t want a wife and kids and a rocking chair on a porch somewhere. You’re all I ever wanted. So if you want me to have a happy ever after, you need to stick around.”

Dean glanced away and licked his lips. Sam’s stomach muscles clenched. He wasn’t getting through. How could he make Dean wake up to the fact that Sam’s world began and ended with him? Fuck it… all this talk of happy endings, and it was something he’d been dreaming of for years anyway…

He pulled Dean in close and pressed a heated kiss on that perfect mouth. It fell a little askew, the skin of Dean’s dimple hot under his touch. He tried again, more tenderly this time. Dean gave one more abortive push against Sam’s chest and then whined deep in his throat. Suddenly, wonderfully, he was kissing Sam back and it was far from tender. 

Sam had watched Dean kiss a hundred girls at a hundred different bars and road stops. He’d seen gentle kisses, rough kisses, lingering kisses, and imagined himself as the recipient of all of them. But this was something new. Dean kissed him with a neediness that none of those girls had ever inspired. As if he was drowning and Sam was air. He twisted, never once losing mouth-to-mouth contact, until he was straddling Sam. His hands slid up to angle Sam’s face and he kissed as if his life depended on it.

Sam was on fire, flames spreading out from his brother’s touch, gladly burning. Dean tasted of whiskey and salt and the scent of leather. Their tongues were stroking over each other, hungry and demanding. Tension rolled through his muscles, corkscrewing the heat deep into his core, binding them together. He dug his fingers into Dean’s hips and ground up against the solid line of his erection. Dean broke the kiss with a gasp, throwing his head back. Sam licked up the long column of pale skin, revelling in the scrape of stubble. 

  “Sammy, god…”

  Sam slid one hand between them, palming Dean’s cock through his jeans. “Stay with me.”

  “Fuck!” Dean shuddered and thrust against the pressure. “Wanted this for so long, little brother. Wanted you.”

  “You can have me.” Sam tugged the button free roughly and thrust his hand inside, curling around Dean’s thick heat. “I’m all yours.”

  “Oh fuck, Sam, please, fuck, harder, Sam, harder…”

Sam leaned back and drank in the sight of his brother thrusting into his hand, face wracked with pleasure. He could barely think, little room in his head for anything beyond the beauty in his lap. Lurking at the edges, in fuzzy technicolour, was the promise of all the fantasies that had ever made him breathless coming true. That anticipation tingled through his nerves, curling the heat tight in his groin. 

  “I love you,” he murmured into the hollow of Dean’s throat, licking out the droplets of sweat. “I need you with me. Inside me.”

  “Fuck, yes,” Dean moaned, clenching his fists in Sam’s shirt. “Sammy! So close, fuck…”

Dean came with a sound like the air was being punched out of him. For a moment he held still, spine bowed back, lips parted, sweat spiking his hair, the model of debauched beauty. Love stabbed through Sam, sharp-edged and overwhelming, and he thrust up with a moan of relief as he climaxed. Then Dean slumped forwards against his chest, heat rolling off him in waves. 

  “Ooph.” Sam pushed back. “Dude, you’re squashing me.” 

No answer. Worry cut through the softness of his afterglow like a razor through candyfloss. Sam reached for Dean’s face. His eyes were closed and his cheeks were flushed. Sweat beaded at his temples and under his nose. Sam rolled him sideways and felt for a pulse. It was hammering, which might be expected under the circumstances, but it wasn’t slowing down. 

  “Dean?” Sam shook his brother’s shoulder gently. “Dean!”

Shit. Physical exercise on an already high fever probably hadn’t been the greatest idea ever. He’d torture himself over that later. For now, he had to get Dean’s temperature down before his body burned itself out. 

Sam carried him to the bath and opened the cold tap as wide as it would go. Then he ran for the ice machine in the corridor, using a towel as a makeshift bucket and leaving a trail of ice cubes on his way back to the room. Dean was still unconscious. He tipped the ice into the water and sloshed it over his brother’s burning face. 

  “Come on, come on, wake up,” he said hoarsely, feeling for a pulse again. Was it slower? He couldn’t tell if Dean’s temperature had come down either. How long should he wait before calling for an ambulance? Oh god, what if he’d killed his brother with sex? He swallowed down the hysteria and scooped more cold water onto Dean’s brow. “You have to wake up, please, come on, come back to me.”

With a convulsive jerk, Dean’s eyes flew and he sat up, gasping. 

  “Jesus Christ!” He scrambled over the side of the bath, shivering.

  Sam threw a towel around his shoulders and hugged him. “Your fever spiked. I had to bring your temperature down, I’m sorry.”

  “He’s here.” Dean wasn’t listening. “Metatron is here, I know it, I could hear him. I’m connected to him somehow.”

  Sam took a step back, forcing himself to adjust mental course. Sex, near-fatal or otherwise, was clearly not his brother’s current priority. “I think he's in the hotel. Room 366.”

  “Let’s go.” Dean staggered towards the door.

  “Hey, hey.” Sam inserted himself in the way. “You’re ill.”

  “And I ain’t getting better until this is done.”

  “I get that, but at least put on some dry clothes.” 

Dean subsided with poor grace, although he needed Sam’s help since standing up whilst wrangling trousers was currently something of a challenge. Sam took the opportunity to change out of his own stained jeans. Dean gave him a blank look and he wondered, with a sick jolt to the stomach, whether it had all been a fever-dream to his brother, washed away in delirium and unconsciousness. 

  “I should be taking you to the E.R.,” he said when Dean finally insisted that they needed to go  _ now _ .

  “Yeah, I’m sure they’re bang up to date on Trial Treatments.” Dean headed out into the corridor, catching himself against the wall. “It’s weird, man. I keep getting these flashes of memory from back when we were little. I used to read to you, the  _ Knights of the Round Table _ , do you remember?”

  Sam put out a hand to steady Dean’s wavering progress. “Yeah, actually. There was that picture of Sir Lancelot duelling. I used to think he was you.”

  Dean stopped, blinking. “Me?”

  “You were both warriors fighting evil. Heroes, y’know? Plus there was that whole ‘eye for the ladies’ thing.”

  “I wanted to be him,” Dean said, his words soft at the edges. “So bad. But I knew I wasn’t good enough.”

  “Dean. You’re the best hunter I’ve ever seen. Better than me, better than Dad.”

  Dean shook his head, wincing at the movement. “There's too much darkness in me. But these Trials… they’re changing me. Filling me with light. If I have to go-”

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “We all die in the end, Sam. If I get to die full of light, well. That’s better than I could’ve asked for.” 

Dean’s smile, bright and brave and fucking glad to be burning up from the inside, made Sam want to cry, or punch the wall, or hold his brother close so nothing could hurt him ever again. That whole conversation about happily ever afters, everything that followed… forgotten, wasted, a memory only Sam carried and tinged with pain.

Dean winced, one hand going to his ear, and staggered away down the corridor. He stopped outside Mr. Smith’s door, to Sam’s complete lack of surprise.

  “Ready?”

  “Maybe you’d better let me go first,” Sam suggested.

  Dean scowled, then took a step back with an elaborate hand gesture. “After you, princess.”

Sam tested the door cautiously. It swung open to reveal pile upon pile of books, some of them almost to the ceiling. He entered the room, walking as softly as he could, and Dean stumbled in his wake. They rounded a stack of hardbacks and there was a loud, horribly familiar double-click. Sam found himself looking down the barrel of a rifle, held by a short grey-haired man in a cardigan. Dean tried to shove himself between them but he put out an arm and easily held his brother back.

  “Who are you?” the man growled.

  “You’re Metatron,” Sam said, not quite a question. He’d long since accepted that angels looked no more imposing than their vessels, but to date all the vessels he’d seen had at least been… well, taller. Not to mention, physically fitter. With a marked absence of cardigans.

  “Sit down,” Metatron ordered, gesturing with the rifle towards an armchair amidst the piles of books. “Who sent you?”

  Dean winced and covered his ears. “No one  _ sent  _ us,” he said loudly. “We’re the Winchesters.”

  “Dude, you’re shouting at the Scribe of God,” Sam said, pushing Dean into the chair before he fell over.

  “Oh.” Metatron lowered the rifle slowly. “You’re resonating. You’ve undertaken the Trials. You get that far along, you start resonating with the Word. With me.”

  “You’re the Word?” Sam said.

  “Well, it’s source on the material plane. When Dad left, the archangels took over and started scheming. They decided they’d take over the universe themselves, but they couldn’t do anything without the Word of God. So I left. Kept off the radar.”

  “You asshole,” Dean said slowly. “Whilst you’ve had your head in the sand, do you know how much suffering has gone on because of angel dickbags? Because of you? What about Kevin Tran? He was just a kid, a good straight-A kid who got sucked into all of this angel crap and became a Prophet of the Word of God. Your Prophet. You should’ve been looking out for him, but instead you’re here, holed up, reading books. He’s dead now because of you.”

  “No, he isn’t. He’s… oh. With the King of Hell.”

  “What?” Sam pressed a hand on Dean’s shoulder to keep him seated. “Get him out! Get him out now!”

Metatron looked briefly constipated. There was a soft whoosh of displaced air and comatose Kevin appeared, slumped in a chair. Metatron pressed a hand to his chest then stood back.

  “Is… is he okay?” Dean asked.

  “Give him a minute.” 

  “Sam? Dean?” Kevin said weakly, stirring.

  Sam put a hand on the Prophet’s shoulder. “Hey.”

  “Thought we lost you, kiddo,” Dean said, a little shaky with relief. 

  “I’m good.” Kevin pulled something from his jacket. “Second half of the tablet. I got it. The third Trial.”

  “What is it?” Dean asked.

  “To cure a demon,” Metatron said behind them. 


	4. White Skin, White Film

  “I should probably warn you,” Sam said to Kevin, as they drove home. “There’s a friend of Dean’s at the bunker. His name’s Benny, and he’s a vampire.”

  “Don’t you guys kill vampires?”

  “Benny’s different. He got Dean out of Purgatory. Twice, now. And he doesn’t hunt humans. Just don’t go in the fridge, okay?”

  “Am I going to find body parts?”

  “No, donor bags. He’s safe, I promise. And he really cares about Dean.” Sam glanced at the back seat, where his brother was stretched out asleep.

  “Look out!” Kevin yelled, slamming his hands against the dash.

Sam looked back to see a man lying in the road. He stamped hard on the brakes and the Impala squirreled under him, screeching her rear tyres round. She came to a jarring halt with a few metres to spare.

  “Sam, what the hell?” Dean said thickly, struggling up on one elbow.

  Sam ignored him in favour of staring at the figure in the headlights. Dark hair on top of a tan coat.

  “Is that…?” Kevin whispered.

  Sam got out, feeling uncoordinated with adrenalin and shock. “Cas?”

  “Cas?” Dean said in alarm, fumbling for the door handle.

  Castiel, face streaked with blood and dirt, slowly uncurled from his defensive hunch. He squinted against the Impala’s headlights. “Sam? A little help here?”

  Sam crouched over him. “Shit, man, what happened?”

  “Crowley. And Naomi. Although not in that order.”

  “Can you stand?”

  Castiel shifted and his face went white. “No,” he panted. “Crowley shot me with a bullet made from an angel blade. It will take some time to heal.”

  “I’ll add it to his tab,” Dean said, coming over and leaning unobtrusively against Sam. “Last trial pays for all.”

  “Dean!” Castiel’s eyes went wide. “You are not well.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. And Kevin’s in the front seat, just got back from his own little dance with the devil. Come on, Sam, let’s get this rolling ICU home.”

By the time they reached the bunker Cas was able to walk again. Benny’s vampiric hearing meant that he heard the Impala arrive and came to meet them at the garage.

  “Cas,” he said with a modicum of warmth. “Figured I’d see you here a mite earlier. You ain’t improved much since Purgatory, by the look of things.”

  “Hello, Benny.” Cas gave him a nod and moved to assist Dean out of the car.

  “Get off me, Cas.” Dean pushed him away. “I don’t need your help.”

  “You can barely stand.”

  “I don’t need _your_ help,” Dean said emphatically.

Sam looked round sharply from where he was giving Kevin a hand up. Castiel took a step back, hurt flickering across his bloodied face. Dean struggled to stand and fell back, panting a little. Benny crouched in front of him, eyebrow cocked.

  “What’s the issue, chief? Last time we was all together, you hauled me half-way around the armpit of the universe to find this angel. Now you won’t even take his hand?”

  “Dean,” Cas said hoarsely. “If this is about my hitting you -”

  “That was Naomi,” Dean interrupted. “I get that. What I don’t get is you vanishing with no word, no call to say you’re okay, ignoring my prayers and Sam’s, hiding the angel tablet -”

  “Angel tablet?” Kevin said.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Sam muttered.

  “You’re on the run from Heaven, Cas.” Dean pulled himself upright on the door, anger making him strong. “With a messed-up brain and the Word of God in your pocket, and you didn’t think to check in? Why? Because you didn’t trust me? You didn’t trust _me_.”

  “I thought I was doing the right thing,” Cas said quietly, looking at his feet.

  “You always do.”

  “Now, hold on.” Benny stepped between them, arms folded across his chest.

Sam blinked. Standing in the firing line between Cas and Dean had never gone particularly well for him in the past, but both of them immediately shut up.

   _Not jealous_ , he told himself firmly. _Not jealous._

  “Sounds like there’s a lot I ain’t up to speed on,” Benny continued, “but I do know this. Dean, you’re up against some big hitters, brother. You need all the help you can get, and you know we’re a sweet team. And Cas, before you go getting all puppy-eyed, can’t you tell yet when he’s shouting because he’s worried? Dean ain’t exactly the sharing and caring type. He don’t get fretful, he gets pissed, which served pretty well down in Purgatory where - as I recall - we had this exact same conversation. So, Cas, why don’t you accept that maybe you should have called? And Dean, stop shouting at your friends and give the angel a hug. Then we can all get on with killing the actual bad guys.”

Everyone stared at him in perfect silence for several long seconds. Then, with a huff of laughter, Kevin limped over and held out his hand.

  “Hi, I’m Kevin. Good to have you here.”

  “Benny. It’s a pleasure. Why don’t you go on in and get fixed up? That throat looks pretty bruised. You too, Dean.”

  Sam shook his head in wonder as Dean wordlessly accepted Cas’ proffered arm and they headed haltingly inside. “That was… impressive.”

  Benny gave him a sharp-toothed grin. “This ain’t my first rodeo.”

  “Were they like that in Purgatory?”

  “All the time. Lucky there were monsters to take it out on. Don’t know how you’ve handled it so long.”

  “No shortage of monsters up here, either.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.” Benny rubbed his hands together. “So, you got a plan?”

  “Research how to cure a demon.”

  “Alright then, point me at the books.”

  Sam looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

  “I can read, Sam.”

  “Sorry, it’s just… well, Dean helps with research only under sufferance.”

  “I ain’t him.” Benny paused, and then spoke more gently. “And I ain’t trying to take your place either.”

  “I don’t… we’re…”

  “You flinch every time I call him ‘brother’. Look, there’s things friends can do that family can’t, you follow? But there’s a whole bunch of stuff I’ll never be able to help with, or be for him. He likes having me around, but you? Boy, he _needs_ you. So try not to hate me, sure?”

  “I’m sorry,” Sam said after a moment. “You’re right, I’m not being fair. I’ll do better.”

  “One thing I don’t get,” Benny said as they continued towards the library. “You and ol’ Cas there seem just fine. Is it the fangs?”

  “A bit. Angels… well, when we first met Cas I still thought they were the good guys.”

  Benny nodded slowly. “But you weren’t always buddies, am I right?”

  “I… It took a while to adjust to Dean leaning on someone else, yeah.”

  “And you know Dean ain’t ever fucked him.”

  Sam choked.

  Benny laughed and thumped him on the back. “Hell, I ain’t hardly in a position to judge. I drank folks for breakfast, back in the day. But what I didn’t do, and won’t ever, is screw your brother. Easy on the eye he may be, but I’m a ladies’ man. Reckon we can be friends now?”  

  “God knows how you treat your enemies,” Sam said fervently, face red. “Library’s this way.”

Kevin liked the library. Really liked it. He was particularly happy about the array of warding built into the decor. Benny cheerfully claimed a desk and told Sam to give him a reading list. Castiel looked blank for a moment and then offered to get snacks for everyone from the kitchen.

  “I am good at making ham sandwiches,” he said earnestly.

  “That’d be great, thanks, Cas.”

  “Could I have mine with cheese as well?” Kevin asked.

  “Of course. And I will bring you a glass of blood,” Cas said to Benny. “Dean, you should go and lie down. You are not well.”

  “I’m not a fucking cripple, Cas.” Dean’s protest was marred by a violent bout of coughing. He tried to wipe his hand surreptitiously on his trousers as he straightened up, but Benny’s nostrils flared and Castiel grabbed his hand.

  “You are tearing apart,” he growled. “I can’t… I can’t fix you, Dean, so you must take care of yourself. You are important.”

Dean scowled and tugged free. Sam recognised the beginnings of a rant as he drew in a deep breath, but that set off the coughing again. Castiel and Benny exchanged a significant look, and abruptly Sam couldn’t stand it.

  “Okay,” he said loudly. “Kevin, keep working on the demon tablet, see if there’s any clues about curing demons. Benny, the library catalogue’s in that filing cabinet. We’re looking for anything relating to demon cleansing, curing, weird exorcisms, okay? Cas, man, I’m starving. Those sandwiches would be great.” Then he grabbed Dean by the elbow and practically dragged him down the hall, out of earshot.

  “Quit manhandling me.” Dean pulled away and folded his arms. “What?”

  “I know you hate sitting on the sidelines, okay? I get it. But that second trial hit you much harder than the first one.”

  “Your point?”

  Sam ran both hands through his hair. “I need you to be honest with me. No more of this macho bullshit. Cas and Benny can tell anyway but I don’t want to hear it from them.”

  “I feel like crap, Sam, what d’you want me to say?”

  “I want you to stop pushing yourself. We’ve got a whole team here now, you don’t have to do everything. Save your strength for the stuff no one else can handle.”

  “So, what, I’m supposed to just sit in my room feeling sorry for myself?”

  “No, that’s not what I…” Sam drew a deep breath and stepped in close, until he could feel the heat radiating off Dean’s feverish skin. “Stay with me.”

  Dean’s pupils flared. “You mean…?”

  “I mean in the library, tonight, for the rest of my life. I need you to survive this, Dean.” Sam inched closer, narrowing in on Dean’s chapped lips. “I need you.”

  “Sammy…” Dean’s voice was deep, air over smoldering coals. “What I… what happened in Two Rivers…”

  “You remember?”

  Dean’s breathing hitched. “Yeah. And I shouldn’t’ve done that to you.”

  “Then you remember it wrong,” Sam whispered, mouth brushing against Dean’s, the lightest of touches. He felt the shiver run through his brother’s entire body and waited a full two seconds, giving Dean a chance to pull back.

He heard a low sound, distant waves in a cave, and then he was shoved hard against the wall as Dean kissed him ruthlessly, possessively, without gentleness or mercy. Their tongues wrestled, hot and wet and needy. Dean thrust his hands under Sam’s clothes, one hand latching onto a hipbone, hard enough to bruise, and the other slid down Sam’s pelvis. Sam grabbed his ass, hauling him closer, and ground against him. Dean broke off the kiss with a gasp, head thrown back, and Sam ducked forward to graze his teeth over the base of Dean’s throat. Strong fingers tangled in his pubic hair and he bit harder than he’d intended.

  “Fuck!”

  “Sorry.” The apology died as Sam took in Dean’s flushed face and lust-blown eyes.

  “Bedroom. Now.”

They stumbled into Dean’s room - it was closer - and Sam took a step back as Dean closed the door. He was breathing fast, feeling light-headed. He’d fantasised about this so many times, it just didn’t quite seem real. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, or his feet, or even where to rest his eyes. He risked a glance at Dean, who was leaning back against the door with a painfully open, hungry look on his face.

  “Sam,” he said, and swallowed. “Are you… we don’t have to…”

  “I want to,” Sam said quickly. And oh, he did, of course he did, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do next.

  “Okay.” Dean licked his lips and his eyes darkened. “Lose the clothes.”

Sam's hands were trembling. He ended up ripping his shirt open, sending buttons pinging around the room. Belt next, then jeans and boxers at once, kicked off to the side. He straightened up with the beginnings of embarrassment but Dean’s expression sent heat curling all the way through his core.

  “Christ, Sammy, you… how in the hell did I get this lucky?”

  Sam’s mouth quirked. He sat down on the bed, leaning back, and spread his knees. “Feeling a little lonely here. You gonna join this party any time soon?”

  “Oh, I’m celebrating, believe me.”

Dean shucked his clothes with commendable efficiency. Something in Sam’s chest twisted painfully at how thin and pale his brother had got, every rib standing proud beneath the white skin. Then Dean knelt between his legs and the feeling vanished before a rush of desire. One glittering emerald look was all the warning he got before Dean put one hot hand on his balls, another on his shaft, and wrapped those wonderfully mobile lips around the head of his cock. Sam gasped, overwhelmed by the wave of heat that swept over him. His arms gave out and he fell back, staring blindly at the ceiling, helpless beneath the pleasure pulsing out from his groin.

  “Dean, oh god, Dean…”

Dean’s tongue flicked over his slit, making him shudder, before swirling down to the base as Dean drew him all the way in. He clutched frantically at Dean’s hair, holding him still and trying not to jerk his hips up.

  “Too much, it’s too much, I can’t…”

Dean growled and it reverberated through Sam’s cock, seismic waves that splintered his bones and his breathing. Stars pinwheeled across his vision and he gave a strangled shout. Every muscle locked and pressure exploded out of him in scalding spurts. Dean drank him down, milking him, rumbles of satisfaction sending aftershocks shivering through his unclenching body.

  “You need to get laid more often, little brother,” Dean said, sitting back and wiping his mouth. “That’s gotta be some kind of record.”

  “That’s what happens when you fulfil a decade’s worth of fantasising,” Sam panted, eyes still closed. “Sorry, man.”

  Dean chuckled. “Hey, I’ll take it as a compliment. Besides, I was trying to get you off. Blow fast, fuck slow, that’s my motto. Roll over, Sammy.”

  Sam flopped bonelessly onto his stomach and pillowed his head on his arms. “I’m supposed to be looking after you.”

  “You’re not the only one with fantasies to fulfil.” Dean slid his hands up the back of Sam’s thighs and tugged him backwards until his hips were on the edge of the bed. “Ever done this before?”

  “Once, at college.”

  “I’ll go easy then.”

For a while Sam let himself drift luxuriously in the sensation of Dean’s touch stroking his skin. Those calloused hands were everywhere, dragging lightly down his spine, massaging circles under his shoulder-blades, rasping a nail under the curve of his buttocks. It was almost soporific, but as Dean drew his focus tighter onto Sam’s ass the heat began to slowly build again. Sam kept his eyes shut and tried not to anticipate, just riding the surface.

There was a brief interruption as Dean leaned away, and the sound of a nearby drawer. Then one wet finger stroked down Sam’s crack and lingered over the furl of his hole. He breathed in deep and spread his legs a little wider. The movement sent a rub of friction against his cock, and he realised he was hard again. His pulse suddenly picked up a little. Dean pressed a kiss to the base of his spine.

  “Easy, kiddo. I got you.”

Another sliding finger, massaging lube, pressing against his entrance, easing the muscle. A needy tension spiked through Sam and he shifted again, enjoying the slight pull on his cock. Then Dean’s finger pushed slowly into him and he gasped.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah… yeah…”

  “Tell me if you wanna stop.”

  “Don’t.” The finger withdrew and Sam gave an involuntary groan. “I said don’t!”

  Dean’s deep chuckle, breathier than usual. “I won’t.”

The finger returned, slicking Sam up further and sinking deeper into him. He clenched around it and Dean’s other hand slipped between his legs to stroke his balls.

  “Easy,” he murmured. “I got you, Sammy, I’m right here. Reckon you can take more? There you go, that’s right, opening up all sweet and easy for me, just taking me inside you, slick and hot around me, like I imagined but so much better. And here’s another, let me in, Sammy, let me open you up, spread those long, long legs and let me slide in deep…”

The honey of Dean’s voice was suddenly disrupted as his fingers hit Sam’s prostate and a bolt of electricity shot through every nerve. Sam cried out, fingers clutching at the sheets, his cock abruptly a throbbing anchor in the centre of his awareness.

  “Fuck, that was hot,” Dean said, breathing heavily. “Let me hear it, Sammy, let me hear you moan for me.”

  “Please, Dean, I need, you gotta, aaaah!” As Dean hit his prostate again and his thoughts fractured.

  “Christ…”

The fingers withdrew and Sam caught his breath. Then Dean grasped his hips and slowly breached Sam’s hole. Everything narrowed to that point, the solid heat filling him up, pushing deeper and deeper until he was run through, his entire body a sheath for Dean’s cock. His pulse rippled around it, inner walls thudding, tensing. His muscles trembled, needing to move and pinned under the the weight. He gasped for air.

  “Fuck,” Dean groaned, voice ragged. “Christ, Sammy, you feel so good, made for me, taking me like a fucking pro.”

He began to move, in, out, in, out, building the tension, pumping pressure into Sam’s ass and filling up every limb. Sam gritted his teeth, clawing mindlessly at the bed, as the white light behind his eyes grew and grew.

  “That’s it,” Dean ground out, “fuck, come on, bitch, you’re my bitch, Sammy, fucking take it, come on, come for me, scream for me, I’ll fuck you ‘til you scream my name, come on…”

Harder and harder, Sam couldn’t breathe, every muscle was tightening, lightening building in his toes and rising, burning up his legs, through his chest, choking him, until it burst through his head, blinding light, an explosion of arcing pleasure that pulled him tight, pulsing, Dean’s name ripped from his throat. He felt a flood of heat inside and heard Dean crying out hoarsely. Then weight collapsed across his lower back and Dean’s right hand came up to cover his. The waves of feeling began to recede.

  “You okay?”

  Sam choked out a laugh. “Are you kidding?”

Dean squeezed his hand. They stayed motionless for a minute, letting their bodies recover some strength. Then Dean sighed noisily into Sam’s skin.

  “Much as I like this, my knees are fucking killing me.”

  “You topped,” Sam said muzzily. “You get the washcloth.”

  “Thought you’d only done this once.”

  “I’m a researcher.”

Dean snorted with amusement, and pulled out. It was momentarily uncomfortable as Sam was left empty and messy, but he couldn’t find the energy to move. Then Dean was back with a warm cloth, gently wiping him down.

  “Roll over.”

  “Don’t wanna.”

  “I will tickle you.”

  “Jerk.” Sam sighed heavily and pushed up off the bed. He took the cloth from Dean and finished cleaning himself. Dean pulled on his jeans, giving frequent sideways glances. “What?”

  “You sure you’re okay? No regrets?”

  Sam tossed the cloth aside and took his brother’s face in both hands. “I regret we didn’t do this earlier. That’s it. I love you, Dean - try and get it into your thick skull.”

  Dean swallowed. “Ditto.”

  Sam smiled. “I know.”

  Dean hesitated for a moment, before leaning forward to give Sam a lingering kiss. Then he straightened up and shoved Sam’s shirt into his hands. “Okay, enough touchy-feely crap. Let’s go find a demon detox.”

When they got back to the library Dean paused in the entrance, looking briefly wistful. Sam followed his gaze to where Castiel, Kevin and Benny were sitting at the reading desks surrounded by books and folders. Kevin was showing something to Benny as Castiel leaned over the vampire’s shoulder.

  “Just missing Charlie,” Dean said quietly.

  Sam smiled at him. “Should I give her a call?”

  “She’s better off out of it.”

  Kevin looked up at the sound of their soft exchange. “Good, you’re back. Do you know where Room 7B is?”

  Sam headed over and took the manila file out of his hands. “Yeah, I think it’s down near the bedrooms. Case 1138?” He flipped it open. “Class 5 Infernal Event… ‘Weird!!!’?”

  “See the three exclamation points?” Kevin pointed. “That’s worth checking out, right?”

  “I’ll take the kid exploring,” Dean said. “Walking’s about my level.”

  “Sure.” Sam handed the file back and pulled out a chair. “What else have you guys got?”

Castiel and Benny talked him through a variety of files and books. The angel seemed dubious that demonhood was a curable condition, which put a slight dent in Sam’s enthusiasm, but the other two trials had been pretty straightforward. Difficult to do, sure, but not exactly cryptic. Besides, according to Ruby demons weren’t a species - they were what happened to sufficiently corrupted souls.

  “And isn’t the whole point of the New Testament that no one is beyond redemption?” he argued.

 Castiel looked uncomfortable. “All religious texts have an issue with mortal interpretation and revisionism,” he began, but was interrupted by Dean bursting back into the library, a grin lighting up his face.

  “Sammy! We finally have a dungeon!”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, there’s a whole room behind these swing-out shelves, with spell-worked chains and a devil’s trap, the works. It’s awesome, dude, you gotta see it.”

  Kevin followed, looking less enthused. “It gave me the creeps,” he said and held out a brown envelope. “I found this.”

  Sam peered inside, and pulled out an old film reel. “Movie night?”

  “I’ll make popcorn,” Castiel said. “That is required for movie nights, correct?”

Sam hauled out the old projector from the war room and set it up at the end of the library. The black and white figures flickered grainily onto the screen, and Sam started.

  “Wait, is that Abaddon?”

  “Who?” Kevin asked.

  “Demon bitch,” Dean said. “But she’s not killy enough. Gotta be the chick she possessed… And those chains look like the ones in our dungeon.”

  “So they hold down demons,” Sam said. “Good to know.” When the exorcism started Sam and Dean exchanged glances. “They’ve changed the wording.”

  “Oh my god,” Kevin said as the old woman’s chest exploded and the tape ran out. “That was disgusting.”

  “That was weird,” Dean said, eyes narrowed. “With three exclamation points. Was there anything else on the film? Director’s commentary, maybe?”

  “No.” Benny got up and went over to the filing cabinet. “But the label on that reel says ‘M. Thompson’ and I just know I’ve seen that name before… Yeah, here it is.” He pulled out an index card. “Father Max Thompson, priest and Man of Letters, died August 5th 1958. Researching the purification of demons. Says here his notes are in the archives.”

  “Great,” Sam said. “I’ll go digging.”

He brushed off the various offers of help and made his way down to the echoing coolness of the lower levels with a sense of escaping. He wasn’t used to sharing his personal space with so many people and, despite the bunker’s size, he was aware of a hovering claustrophobia. He was always on display at the moment, always having to pretend that he knew what he was doing and everything was under control. It was exhausting.

He also wasn’t used to sharing Dean. It was a bit of a culture shock, suddenly not being the only one Dean might be talking to. Not being the only one Dean looked at, smiled at, sat next to. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly - they’d proved earlier that he didn’t need to worry on that front. It was more a vague sense of loss. There was only so much Dean to go round, and the amount decreased as his brother grew steadily weaker. Having other people around meant there was less for Sam.

   _Quit whining_ , he told himself firmly, and switched on the lights of the storage room.

Stack upon stack of files and boxes stretched back to the distant far wall. Grateful once again for the Men of Letters’ rigorous filing system, it didn’t take Sam long to find Father Thompson’s stuff. He pulled the top off the cardboard box and rifled through the contents: notebooks, black and white photos, and a bunch more film reels. One of them was dated August 3rd 1958. He put that one in his pocket, hoisted up the box and went back to the library.

  “Everyone ready for Listening Hour?” he called, setting everything down on the map table in the war room.

  “That depends,” Kevin said, coming through. “Is it going to involve more chest-bursting?”

  “Stop pretending to be squeamish,” Dean said, taking a seat. “I know you’ve seen _Alien_ at least twice.”

  “That was fiction.”

  “He is correct,” said Castiel. “Aliens are not real.”

  “Yeah, just fairies.”

  “Fairies are real?”

  “Fairies are assholes. Also, pro-tip: they don’t do well in microwaves.”

Sam rolled his eyes and pressed play. Father Thompson’s narration of his final experiment quickly shut everyone up, and Kevin shuddered slightly at the crackly hiss of the demon.

  ‘ _The first dose has been administered._ ’

  “Do we know what Padre was dosing number one dad up with?” Dean asked.

  Benny looked up from the notebook he’d extracted from the box. “Says here he used his own purified blood.”

  Dean frowned. “Purified how?”

  “Purification is achieved through the act of confession and repentance,” Castiel said.

The tape skipped to hour two, three, four, five, six… and the demon begged for mercy. Sam held his breath. Was it actually working? Had they found the answer?

  ‘ _Hour eight. The subject is prepped_.’ The priest began the alternate Latin. There was a roar from the demon… and then it broke down into apologies.

_“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I was a monster.”_

_“But now you are a man again. You have been saved_.”

   Sam reached out a shaking hand to turn off the machine. There was silence in the room.  “Did he just… cure a demon?”

  “Sure sounded that way,” Benny murmured.

  “Can we do a test drive?” Dean asked.

  “The Latin’s all here, chief.” Benny held up the notebook.

  Sam drew a breath. “Then all we need is the blood, consecrated ground -”

  “I can consecrate any ground required,” Cas interrupted.

  “- and a demon.”

  “You want to summon a demon here?” Kevin said, an edge of panic in his voice.

  “Or,” Dean said, looking at Sam with tense excitement, “we use one we’ve already tagged. I think it’s time we put Humpty Dumpty back together again.”


	5. Gold Light, Gold Medal

They agreed on the dungeon as the best place to contain Abaddon. Castiel stood in the middle and flared his grace, then declared it sanctified. Sam and Benny began work on sewing the demon’s corpse back together, whilst Dean sat in the corner and ‘supervised’.

  “Dude, I think you got her knee on backwards.”

  “It’s like the world’s grossest jigsaw puzzle,” Sam said, wiping a smear of blood off his forehead.

  Benny held up the host’s hands by the wrists. “She don’t need these, right?”

  “Or her feet,” Dean said. “Hey, Sammy, this must be a dream come true for you, playing dolly dress-up.”

  “You wanna come get your hands dirty?”

  Dean lounged back in his chair, grinning. “I’m conserving my strength, like you told me to.”

  “First time for everything,” Sam muttered, and straightened up. “Okay, we’re about done here. Everyone ready?”

Castiel swung the bookcases closed and Dean stood up.

  “Let’s get this party started,” he said and leaned in to slap Abaddon hard across the cheek. “Rise and shine, princess.”

  The demon’s eyelids fluttered and she raised her head slowly with a scarlet smile. “Morning, sunshines.” She took in Benny and Castiel. “Well, well, did you make some new friends for me to kill?”

  Benny grinned, showing his fangs. “Already dead, cher.”

  Castiel said nothing, but his eyes flared with holy light and Abaddon flinched involuntarily.

  “What is this, some kind of special outreach programme? It sounds like a bad joke: a vampire, an angel and two hunters walk into a bar.”

  “Yeah, well, this bar ain’t serving booze, sweetheart.” Dean gave her a sharp smile, nodding towards the table where the syringes were laid out.

  Abaddon flicked her tongue out, tasting the air. “Did you consecrate the ground? Oh, I think I know this tune.”

  “I doubt that,” Sam said, visually double-checking all the demon cuffs were secure.

  “Father Max Thompson, born October 12, 1910. Died August 5, 1958, courtesy of yours truly. Word got back to home office that Maxie was messing with things, so we made an example. It wasn’t my most artful kill, but it was effective.”

  “So you knew what Max was doing?” Sam asked, shooting a glance at Dean who remained impassive.

  “Fella screamed the basics. But it’ll never work.”

  “You keep telling yourself that,” Dean said, rolling up his sleeves.

Sam’s pocket chose that moment to buzz. Benny looked impressed.

  “You got cell coverage down here?”

  The screen showed 666. Sam’s stomach did a little flip. “It’s Crowley.”

  “Can you tell him to call back?” Dean said. “We’re kind of in the middle of something.”

  “It would be unwise to antagonise the king of Hell at this juncture,” Castiel said calmly, eyes locked on Abaddon’s. “Benny and I can watch the hellspawn.”

  “Crowley’s the king of Hell?” Abaddon said disgustedly. “This is a joke, right?”

  Dean pointed firmly at her. “Stay.”

Sam pushed the bookshelves open and closed them again behind Dean, before he answered.

  “Hello, boy,” Crowley purred.

  “How’d you get this number?”

  “First things first… What are you wearing?”

  “Okay,” said Dean flatly. “Hang up.”

  “Fine, this isn’t a social call. You lads been reading the papers? Say, Denver Times from yesterday? Well, you should. It’s side-splitting. I’m sexting you an address. Check it out, then we’ll talk. Cheerio.”

  The dial tone buzzed through and Sam stared at his phone blankly. “What the fuck?”

  Dean was already looking up the headlines on his screen. “Here we go… Man spontaneously exploded. Vic’s name is Tommy Collins. Why do I know that name?”

  “We saved him from a wendigo, like, forever ago.”

  “What, you think Crowley blew his head off? Well, we’ll pour one out for him later. As far as Crowley goes, screw him. We got everything we need to put him in a permanent time-out.”

  Sam’s phone buzzed. “He just sent an address. Prosperity, Indiana.”

  “Didn’t we work a case there?” Dean frowned with recollection. “Yeah, the one with the witches and the baked goods. You think he’s going after someone there now?”

  Sam shrugged. “It’ll be a trap.”

  “Well, yeah, obviously, but we can’t just let someone die.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow. “You want to put Abaddon and the final trial on hold for one of Crowley’s traps?”

  “No, of course not. I’ll stay here with Cas and play Nurse Jackie. You and Benny go check out Prosperity.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone for this.”

  Dean thumped his shoulder. “I won’t be. You’re the one who said we’ve got a team now. Might as well use ‘em.”

  “It’s a nine hour drive,” Sam objected. He was deeply reluctant to leave Dean alone to take a bathroom break just now, let alone go out of state.

  “Cas’ll drop you off and come back for you in a few hours.” Dean snapped his fingers, face clearing. “Jenny, that was her name. Remember? Blonde hair, keen on cupcakes.”

Which meant Dean had won because now Sam _could_ remember her, which meant he wasn’t able to risk not investigating. Dean grinned triumphantly and pulled open the bookcases again.

  “Cas, would you drop Sam and Benny off in Indiana for a coupla hours?”

  Benny straightened up from his insouciant lean against the dungeon wall. “What gives?”

  “Demon trouble,” Sam said. “Fancy a fight?”

  “I’m agreeable.”

  Castiel was looking levelly at Dean. He gestured towards Abaddon. “Do you not already have demon trouble?”

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” she purred. “I won’t be any trouble at all.”

  “Chains’ll hold her until you get back.” Dean shrugged. “Then you and I can get started.”

  “Very well.”

Castiel reached out to grasp Sam and Benny by the scruff, and with a nauseating lurch they were standing outside a cute little house with a well-kept front yard.

  “I will return in four hours,” the angel said. “I trust that will be sufficient time.”

  “Thanks, man.”

Sam headed towards the door, Benny at his heels, and tensed. It was slightly ajar. He passed Ruby’s knife to Benny and slid his gun free. They moved softly into the hall and he cocked his head, listening. Nothing. Then Benny nudged his elbow.

  “Burnt meat,” he whispered, pointing. “Pork or human.”

  “Sulphur?”

The vampire shook his head. They eased up to the kitchen door, exchanged glances, and then slammed into the room. It was empty, apart from the girl face-down in the oven, charred and black from the chest up. Sam lowered his gun, helplessness making his arms suddenly heavy.

  “We’re too late.”

  “Couldn’t have got here any sooner.”

  Sam shook his head. “Crowley meant for us to fail. He probably killed her before he even called.”

  “What’s the point, then?” Benny said. As if on cue, Sam’s phone began to ring. “That him?”

  “Yeah.” Sam stabbed the answer button, his anger boiling to the surface. “What the hell are you doing, Crowley?”

  “Oh, Moosie,” the demon purred happily. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m killing everyone you’ve ever saved. The damsels in distress, the innocent whippersnappers, the would-be vampire chow… all of them. I have to give you points for your response time, though. Get an angelic piggy-back, did you?”

  “How do you even know who -”

  “I have my sources. And a cracking research team.” He chuckled. “Now, you’re probably wondering why my droogs aren’t in there giving you the bum’s rush, so let’s brass these tacks, shall we? I’m going to gut one person every twelve hours until you bring me the demon tablet and stop this whole trials nonsense.”

  “We don’t have the tablet. Kevin took it and -”

  “And I took Kevin.” Crowley’s voice dropped. “Then someone took him back. Word from the cloud is that it wasn’t Heaven. So either the cutest little prophet in the world is with you, or you’d better find him tout-bloody-suite.”

  Benny bared his fangs silently, shoulders bunching. Sam shook his head. “Crowley -”

  “You’re thinking of ways to stop me. You won’t be able to, but you’ll try because that’s what you do. So, time for an object lesson. You’re a little ahead of schedule so in, hmm, eight hours the very delightful Sarah Blake will be choking her last on the Ivy Motel carpet. I believe she was a particular friend of yours, Moose?”

  Sam’s hand clenched around the receiver. “If you hurt her -”

  “Oh, I will hurt her,” Crowley interrupted. “And anything you do to try and stop me will hurt her considerably more. We all know death is really the least unpleasant tool in Hell’s box. So. Bring me the tablet and the prophet in the next eight hours, or she dies. Step one dainty little toe out of line and she dies horribly. Eventually. Capisce?”

The line went dead. Sam swallowed, breathing heavily. Benny took a step towards him with a concerned look on his face.

  “He’s killing them,” Sam said in a flat voice. “All the people we’ve saved. He’s gonna kill them all, unless we stop.”

  “He said eight hours until the next one. Dean’ll have done, by then.”

  “If it works. Abaddon said -”

  “You gonna trust a word outta that whore’s mouth?” Benny said. “It’ll work, chief. Stick to the plan.”

  “Yeah.” Sam dragged a palm over his face, reaching for composure. “Yeah, you’re right. Close to the line, though, and Cas won’t be back for a while. How about we use the time constructively?”

* * *

They got back to Jenny’s house just as Castiel re-appeared in the yard. He looked them over with some concern.

  “Are you alright?”

  Sam and Benny shared an amused look, and both made an effort to brush the soot from their clothes. “We’re fine, Cas. Just had to, um…”

  “Make sure a motel was closed for business,” Benny finished smoothly.

  “How’s it going at the bunker?”

  Castiel straightened. “It is working. After the last dose, Abaddon began to say most emphatically that her past actions were not her fault.”

  “That’s great!” Sam said.

  “Told you.” Benny clapped him on the back.

  “We should get back.” Castiel stepped forwards. “I cannot leave Dean long, and Kevin wishes to speak with you.”

Jenny’s yard vanished with a rush of air and feathers, and they reappeared in the war room of the bunker. Castiel headed towards the dungeon without another word as Kevin came hurriedly through from the library, shoulders hunched and eyes tight.

  “What’s the matter?” Sam said immediately.

  “I, uh… I found something. In the demon tablet. About the trials.”

  “What?” Sam’s stomach began to churn. Whatever had Kevin so tense, it couldn’t be good.

  “Um…” Kevin took a shuffling step backwards. “Whoever does the trials… I mean, when the third trial is finished… Look, I haven’t got the exact translation yet…”

  “Would you spit out, for God’s sake?!”

  Kevin took a deep breath. “The third trial seals the gates of Hell with the ultimate sacrifice.”

  “You mean…” Sam felt cold spreading swiftly from his hands and feet. There was a distant ringing in his ears.

  “It’s gonna kill him,” Benny said in his deep voice.

  Kevin flicked a nervous glance at Sam. “I’m sorry.”

Sam went cold all over. All the sounds of the bunker receded. He was distantly aware that he should be panicking but he felt very calm. Kevin was wrong; would be wrong. Dean wasn’t going to die. Not again. They’d talked about this, back in Two Rivers and earlier today. Dean had already died once and Sam… No. Not again. They were the best damn hunters on the planet, they could beat this.

   _Denial_ , the analytical part of his brain whispered. _First stage of grief_.   

Sam turned, cutting off Kevin mid-stammer, and strode towards the dungeon. They could put the third trial on hold. Abaddon wasn’t going anywhere. There would be a way. There always was. It didn’t matter that this was bigger than anything else they’d ever tried, it didn’t _matter_ , there had to be a loophole. Had to be. Would be.

He walked in just as Dean straightened up from Abaddon’s neck, empty syringe in hand. Castiel was hovering at his side, tensed, and he put a rock-steady arm around Dean’s waist as they stepped back from the chair. Golden light flared under the skin of both Dean’s arms, more bright and alive, somehow, than ever. Dean cried out with pain - a noise Sam couldn’t remember hearing before, a noise which punched the breath out of him - and would have fallen without Castiel’s support. Sweat stood out on his forehead and his sunken eyes clenched shut. Sam lunged forwards, gathering him into a cradling hug.

  “Jesus,” he said, voice choked. “You’re burning up.”

  “Heya, Sammy,” Dean panted, making an effort to stand on his own. “How’d it go?”

  “Fine.” Sam took the bottle of water Castiel was holding out. “Here, drink this.”

  “Rather have whiskey.”

  “We discussed this,” Castiel said patiently. “It risks making your blood impure.”

  “Yeah, yeah. No liquor in the Lord’s work.” Dean raised the water and drank greedily. “Dying sober sucks.”

  “You’re not going to die,” Sam said fiercely, stepping back a little to take Dean by the shoulders. “You hear me?”

  Dean flicked a glance at Castiel. “You talk to Kevin yet?”

  “Yeah, I talked to Kevin, and he’s wrong.”

  “He’s the Prophet, Sammy.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Dean smiled. “Don’t think the Word of God took your opinions into account, dude.”

  “I won’t let you die!”

Dean turned away, flinching, as a hacking cough ripped through his chest. When he straightened up there was blood on his lips. Castiel handed him a tissue without comment.

  “This thing is tearing me apart,” he said quietly. “If Cas can’t heal it, no one else stands a chance. Sammy, listen to me. I don’t mind, okay? It’s worth it. My life to lock up every sonofabitch in the Pit? No contest. What’s one beat-up soul compared to the hundreds, thousands, that’ll be saved? Deal of the century.”

  “No!” Sam balled his fists, vision blurring at the edges with rage. “It’s not one soul, it’s _your_ soul. How many people could we save if you live? I know you’re tired, and hurting, I know that, but you promised. You said you’d stay with me. I can’t do this without you, Dean. So fight!”

   _Anger_ , said the quiet voice at the back of his brain.

  Dean leaned heavily back against the table, looking exhausted. “How? There ain’t exactly a target to punch.”

  “Stop the trial.” Sam gestured towards the slumped demon in the middle of the room. “Give me time. This was only supposed to be a test run anyway. We’ll research options.”

  “I’m not risking her escaping again,” Dean said sharply.

  “So we take her to pieces until we figure this out.”

  “Hey,” Abaddon said hoarsely, lifting her head as though it were unbearably heavy. “I’m not a kit car.”

  “You don’t get a vote.”

  “I said no, Sam.” Dean’s voice was quiet, thready, but Sam recognised the tone. That was his ‘we’re not discussing it anymore’ voice.

  “That worked on me when I was twelve and wanted another bowl of fruit loops.” Sam folded his arms stubbornly.

  “Can we get back to the torture, please?” Abaddon said plaintively to Dean. “This isn’t my idea of in-flight entertainment.”

  Dean sighed. “Cas, keep an eye, would ya?” He walked slowly out to the corridor, shoulders slumped, and Sam followed. “I knew you’d be a little bitch about this,” he said, eyes on the floor.

  “Jesus, Dean!” Sam ran both hands through his hair, hurting and frustrated to his core. “You want me to just roll over and accept your death wish? Coz you were so on board when I was talking about throwing myself under the bus.”

  “But I respected your decision,” Dean said sharply. “No, shut up and listen, I got something to say. I been tired of this life for a long time now, you know that, but I stuck around. Put a smile on it, best I could, despite all the shit. Dude, you heard what Famine said to me, why he couldn’t press any buttons. That wasn’t news.”

  “I know,” Sam whispered, swallowing against the hot tightness of his throat.

  Dean nodded. “I stayed for you. My pain in the butt little brother. Couldn’t leave you alone, Sammy. I wouldn’t. But you’re not alone any more. You got the bunker, and Cas, and Kevin. Even Benny. You’re safe as I can make you.”

  “It’s not about being safe.” Sam was losing, could feel the ground tilting away under his feet. He scrabbled frantically for the right words - words that would hook anchors into his brother, make him stay.

  “I know.” Dean put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “But now I got a chance to make the whole world safe. Including you. No more demon blood, not ever. And I get to rest after.”

  “I don’t! I won’t, never again, I swear. I won’t even hunt demons, if you don’t want.”

   _Bargaining_ , sighed the little voice.

  “Sam…”

  A tear spilled over, dripping down his cheek. “You promised.”

  “Won’t be the first promise to you I’ve broken.” Dean smiled, and it was unbearable. “But at least it’ll be the last.”

He gave Sam’s shoulder a final pat and went back into the dungeon, closing the door behind him, leaving Sam to stare dazedly at the wood.

_I failed._

He felt hollowed out, his brain a grey moorland filled with fog. Nothing moved, no thoughts or ideas, no emotions. Every limb was abruptly weighted with sand, clumsy and uncoordinated. He didn’t know what to do. Dean didn’t want him in the dungeon. Dean was leaving him behind. But home had always only been where his brother was, so where was he supposed to go?

His feet moved without orders, carrying him slowly back up to the library. A well-trodden path that didn’t require thinking about. But when he got there Kevin and Benny came to meet him, looking concerned, and he didn’t know what to do next.

  “Has he stopped?” Benny asked.

  Sam shook his head numbly.

  “Is he going to?”

  Shake. _This would be depression, then_.

  “You’re letting him carry on?” Kevin said incredulously.

  Sam struggled through the fog to assemble a response. “It’s what he wants.”

  Benny folded his arms, top lip curling in a snarl. “You’ll sit back and watch him die because you’re so used to just doing what he tells you. Boy, I thought you loved him.”

The vampire doubted how he felt? Blamed him for Dean’s decision? That cut through like a cold wind, and suddenly he had something to fight. Something that could transmute helpless grief into physical anger. His fist shot forward, catching Benny across the jaw and sending him reeling into a table. Kevin yelled for Castiel, scuttling backwards, as Sam grabbed Benny by the back of the neck and pinned him.

  “Fuck you,” he yelled. “Don’t ever… I love him, you bastard, I love him so much I can’t think straight, and it’s not enough to make him want to stay, so don’t you fucking put this on me.”

  “Of course you do,” Castiel said calmly, appearing at his shoulder with a rustle of air. “Your souls are mated. Which is why you might be able to save him.”

  Sam stepped back, letting Benny up and hauling in his temper with an effort. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your souls are mated,” Castiel repeated. “A less common occurrence than your poets would have you believe.”

  “Do you mean… soulmates?” Kevin said in tones of disgust. “But they’re brothers!”

  “The blood relationship is irrelevant. The bond between mated souls is far more powerful than simple genetic coding.”

  “Now, hold on, there,” Benny said, rubbing his reddened jaw. “Used to be, there was an old wives’ tale about how soulmates was one soul shared between two bodies.”

  “That can’t be true,” Sam objected. “When I lost my soul Dean was fine.”

  Kevin and Benny both looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Boy, you really need to write your memoirs,” Benny murmured.

  “It is not wholly accurate,” Castiel said, “but there is a seed of truth in it. One soul _can_ be shared between two bodies, if it is mutually compatible. As is the case with mated souls.”

  Sam dragged a hand over his face, trying not to let hope stop his heart. “But wouldn’t it just be, like, me? In two places?”

  “No. If you recall, when you were soulless your body retained your personality and memories. The only thing missing was the capacity for emotion.”

  “So… we’d both be less emotional?”

  “Is that even possible?” Kevin muttered, then raised his hands at the glares directed his way. “Sorry, sorry.”

  “You would feel a little distant from the world at first, yes.” Castiel said, switching his focus back to Sam. “But souls heal, as you are aware. Over time, the two halves would grow to fill the space available.”

  “And the gates of Hell would still be shut?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about the whole ultimate sacrifice thing?” Kevin said.

  Castiel quirked his head to the side. “Dean is sacrificing his soul. Just not his life. But perhaps you are correct. It may be that the intention to sacrifice both is necessary. We should not tell Dean of this plan, just in case.”

  “There isn’t a plan,” Sam said, swallowing. “Not unless you know how to take soul-cuttings and transplant them.”

  Castiel frowned, clearly puzzled. “Of course I do.”

After that, it was a question of waiting. Kevin kept his head down over the demon tablet, translating furiously in case they’d missed another sting in the tail. Castiel vanished back down to the dungeon and Sam paced the library like a caged lion. Benny watched him, feet up on the desk and a glass of whiskey on the rocks pressed against the rising bruise on his jaw.

  “You boys got anger management issues, anyone ever tell you?” he drawled at last.

  Sam flinched. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have -”

  “I expected you to,” Benny interrupted with a glimmer of a smile. “Ain’t the first time a Winchester’s punched me coz he’s hurting.”

  Sam glanced at Kevin. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

  “Don’t sweat it, chief.” Benny took a swallow and exhaled his pleasure. “Doubt you could plant one on me if I didn’t let you. I’m faster than the average bear.”

  “We should spar some time,” Sam said, forcing a smile. “Test that claim.”

  “Sure.” Benny gave a soft laugh. “Loser’s on trash duty for a fortnight.”

  Sam brought the whiskey decanter and another glass over to the table and sat down opposite. “Yeah,” he said at last, topping up Benny’s drink. “We don’t handle the emotional stuff well. Never have. Our dad was all about pushing it down, ignoring it, taking it out on the bad guys and the bottle instead. Dean learned from the best. I used to be better at managing it, but…”

  “But it’s just been you two for a long time now,” Benny finished. “Me and Kev here, we ain’t cramping your style, I hope?”

  Sam huffed a laugh. “Dean always secretly wanted to settle down, have a home and a family. We both tried doing it the normal way and it didn’t take either time. There’s too much crap in our shadows. Reckon this is the nearest we’re gonna get.”

  Castiel came into the library, walking softly. His eyes looked tired and his nostrils were pinched. “It is time for the final injection,” he said.

Sam drained the rest of his glass and stood up. Benny brought his feet down off the table and leaned across, offering a hand.

  “Good luck, brother,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  Kevin came over, biting his lip. “See you on the other side.”

  Sam gave him a weary smile and patted his shoulder. “You got it.”

He followed Castiel down to the dungeon, pulse building with every step. Was this going to work? Castiel had admitted that, whilst he knew the theory, he’d never actually performed a soul transplant, and even with soulmates it wasn’t guaranteed that the graft would be accepted. Sam was gambling with everything he had, for everything he needed. He took a deep breath and wiped his palms dry.

  Castiel paused at the door. “I will stay out here until you need me,” he said. “I doubt the demon has the strength or inclination to try escaping at this juncture.”

  Sam nodded. “Hey, Cas, if this doesn’t work…”

  “It will work, Sam.”

  “But if it doesn’t. Don’t… don’t bring me back, okay?”

  Castiel fixed one of his unblinking alien stares on Sam’s face, then nodded. “Okay.”

  Sam clapped him on the back and went in.  

The dungeon looked like a slasher movie set. Blood sprinkled the floor, slickly gleaming dots of red and black. Abaddon was slumped in the chair, her wrists and throat rubbed raw against the chains. Her face was pale, sweating, eyes half-rolled back in her head. Her crimson lips hung slackly open, breathing harsh. Dean was leaning against the table, frowning in exhausted concentration as he tried to draw the last syringeful from his arm.

  “Heya, Sammy,” he said, not looking up.

  Sam gently took the syringe from his trembling fingers. “Let me.”

  Dean swayed forward a little and breathed in the scent of Sam’s hair. “Not gonna try dissuade me again?”

  “Would you listen?” Sam found the abused vein and slid the needle in. Dean’s blood followed the plunger up into the chamber. He tugged it free and dropped a kiss on the skin. “There.”

  Dean swallowed. “Sam…”

  “I know.”

  “I…”

  “Me too.” Sam tried to smile, he really did, but his face had turned into cracked and crumbling stone.

  Dean raised a fever-hot hand to cup his cheek. “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered hoarsely, and leaned in.

The kiss burned into Sam’s core, the very definition of love and grief and gentle desperation. He parted his lips and licked at the seam of Dean’s mouth, pleading for entry. With a sigh, Dean slid an arm around his shoulders and let him in. Sam sank into the sensation, the taste of salt and a tingling ozone that sent shivers down his spine. He wanted to give himself up to it, forget the world and cling to his brother forever. But Dean needed him to be strong. Slowly, reluctantly, he eased back, pressing a series of feather-light kisses to the corner of Dean’s mouth, his nose, his brow. Then he stepped back and held out the syringe.

  “Go get ‘em.”

Dean gave a jerky nod, picked it up and advanced on Abaddon. She sighed, rolling her head around to give clear access to her neck. The needle sank in deep and she shuddered as Dean pushed the plunger down. Then he tossed it aside, pulled out his knife and cut viciously deep across his palm. Both his arms filled with golden light, sending shadows racing around the dungeon, and he gasped with pain, staggering a little. Sam stepped in quickly, an arm around his waist to steady him.

  “I’m here, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

  Dean dragged in a breath. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, hanc animam redintegra, lustra.”

He slapped his hand over Abaddon’s gaping mouth. The demon jerked as though she’d been electrocuted, eyes shocked open and black... Then they cleared and filled with tears. Dean’s spine arched and his whole body went rigid, head flung back with a scream as the light flared up through his face. Sam was thrown back against the wall, one arm reflexively shielding his head. There was a roaring sound that shook the room, chains rattling and dust trembling from the stones. Sam fell to his knees as it built and built, the vibrations in his bones making him giddy with nausea. Through it all, Dean continued to scream, on and on, a high counterpoint that tore at Sam’s heart. He reached out, flailing through the thundering earthquake, and curled his fingers around Dean’s ankle.

_I’m here, I’m with you. It’s going to be okay._

The light winked out abruptly and Dean fell heavily to the floor. For a minute or two Sam lay still, blind and disorientated. Then the bookshelves swung back and Castiel came in, Benny and Kevin on his heels. The angel crouched next to Dean and rolled him onto his back.

  “Has he done it?” Sam gasped.

  “I believe so.”

  “Well, I’ll be a blue-nosed gopher,” Benny said slowly.

  Kevin offered Sam a hand up, but Castiel stopped him. “You may as well stay there, Sam. Kevin, I need you to breathe for Dean, please.”

  “What?”

  “He means CPR,” Sam said, pushing himself to his knees and crawling over.  

  “What, me?” Kevin said, sounding panicky.

  “Sam and I will be busy, and Benny doesn’t breathe.”

  “Something else I can do to help?” Benny asked.

  “Hold Sam still.”

  “I don’t need -”

  Castiel stopped him with a glance. “This will be very painful, and it is an extremely delicate procedure. I cannot risk you wriggling.”

  Benny crouched and slid his arms under Sam’s armpits, locking his hands behind Sam’s neck. “Guess we’re sparring now, huh?”

  “If this works, I’ll happily do everyone’s trash duty for a month.”

  Castiel rolled up his sleeves and knelt between the two Winchesters. “Are you ready?”

  Sam took a couple of deep breaths, eyes on Dean’s still face. “Go.”

Castiel extended both arms, fingers stretched into claws, and pushed his hands into their bellies. Sam’s vision whited out with agony. He tried to writhe away from the tearing source of pain but iron bonds held him still. There was something moving in him, invading him, and a blue-gold roaring like a river in torrent. He was pouring away, down over the rocks and narrow channel of fire, out into an empty bowl that was him and not him. He was emptying and filling; in pain and peace; settling into a strange new land that ached with the familiarity of coming home. There was air in this empty place, pushing in, pushing in, and he latched onto it, pulling, dragging, claiming. The network of red streams that had barely stopped moving gave way before his floodtide, sluggish at first then picking up speed as he overwhelmed them. The galaxy of synapses blinked, stuttered, and caught fire from his storm. There was a moment of perfect balance.

_Dean?_

Then the anchors ripped loose, the channel was gone, and everything went black.


	6. Epilogue

  “Cas said we’d be fuzzy for a while.”

  “I don’t think he was talking about cuddling,” Dean said with a snort that tickled the back of Sam’s neck. Sam gave a wordless noise of protest, shoving his hips backwards. “Hey, knock it off. I don’t have the energy for another round.”

  “That’s coz you’re old.”

  “You do the next lot of divine trials, bitch, let’s see how you feel.”

  Sam tightened his grip on the arm circling his chest. “My point is, we’re both running on half a tank of gas. Cas said it’d be like experiencing everything through cotton wool. But this… I mean, I don’t know about you but that was more intense than before, not less.”

  Dean pressed a kiss to the top of his shoulder. “Makes sense, if you think about it. We’re sharing the same set of spark plugs. Of course we’re getting through to each other. The guys out there, I know they’re my friends but right now I ain’t interested in doing anything particular for them. Certainly not leaving this bed and socialising.”

  “Lazybones,” Sam murmured with a smile.

  “I just _This is Sparta_ ’d every demon in existence. I’ve earned a lie-in.”

They were quiet for a minute and Sam basked in the warm cocoon of Dean’s love. He could feel it now in a way he never had before. Oh, he’d known on an intellectual level that Dean loved him but he hadn’t truly _believed_ it - not until the echo of a heartbeat pulsed through his chest and stolen his breath. Not until Dean had opened his eyes, newly bright in his white face, and whispered _‘Sammy’_ like a revelation. They’d both cried a little then, just a tear or two, but everyone had had the decency not to look.

  “Dean?”

  “Mmmm.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Just did.”

  “When you were confessing to Cas, purifying your blood, what did you say?”

  Dean stiffened slightly. “I’ve done a lot of shit in my time, Sam. He just got the highlight reel.”

  “Which was?”

  “You were there for pretty much all of it, you don’t need to hear the replay.”

  “Please,” Sam said softly, lips brushing over Dean’s skin.

Dean sighed and disentangled himself, sitting up against the headboard with his arms hooked over his knees. Sam rolled over and propped his weight on one elbow, watching his brother anxiously. Dean kept his eyes down, face grave and still.

  “Pulling you out of Stanford and back into the life. Not saving you at Cold Oak. Leaving you to get hooked on demon blood. Letting you jump into the Pit. Not getting your soul back sooner. Letting Lucifer drive you to the nut-house.”

  “Dean…” Sam clasped one hand over his brother’s arm.

  Dean gave a quick smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Those’re my starters for ten, anyhow.”

  “They’re all me,” Sam said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “They’re all about me.”

  “Story of my life,” Dean said flippantly. Then he seemed to change his mind. He slid back down until he was facing Sam, and one hand stroked the long hair gently back. “You are the story of my life, Sammy. And I know I can’t make up for all that crap, I know it, but I’ll keep trying.”

  “You’re such an idiot.” Sam smiled at him affectionately. “You raised me, sold your soul to resurrect me, made a bet with Death to get my soul back, and finally took on these trials so I wouldn’t have to. And you still think you’re the one in the red.” He leaned forwards and kissed Dean very tenderly. “I guess I’ll just have to keep showing you you’re not.”

  Dean seemed frozen in place. Then he blinked rapidly and affected a scowl. “Dude, enough with the chick flick moments, before we have to hand in our man cards.”

  Sam laughed and rolled back over, pulling the sheet up. “Goodnight, jerk.”

  “‘Night, bitch.” Dean’s arm slid back over Sam’s ribs, pulling him close. There was a moment of peace. Then: “Hey, if I’m trying to make stuff up to you, and you’re trying to prove I don’t need to, whose job is it to get out of bed and turn off the lights?”

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider leaving kudos. It makes writers happy. :-)


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